Revival
by trufflemores
Summary: SPOILERS for "Star Trek Into Darkness." Captain James T. Kirk died on 2259.58. On 2259.72, he regained consciousness. Spock's not the only one affected by his absence, but his is perhaps the most telling reaction. Yet even with Kirk's return to full health underway, other threats prevail. Begins where STID ends. Action, adventure, hurt/comfort, angst. Ambiguous Spock/Kirk.
1. Prologue - Sequence

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

**Prologue: Sequence**

When it came to emergency post-cryogenic blood transfusions, Khan had left no precedents.

Weeks after the attacks, the _Enterprise's _highest officers would learn about Khan's own experimentation with his blood. His manipulation of a grieving Starfleet officer in order to save his daughter had been Khan's only prior footstep in rogue eugenics. The encounter had both tested Khan's blood's power and begun his attack on the Federation, beginning with the explosion at the London Archives and culminating in the leveling of Alcatraz and part of downtown San Francisco.

In order to strike a bargain, Khan had provided the officer with the necessary motivation - _I can save her _- and means to revive his daughter. All it had taken was a hushed conversation to earn obedience, a quiet exchange on an open courtyard where any Starfleet or medical official could have intervened.

No one had. Khan had known that no one would; he'd timed the shifts just so, selecting the most unobtrusive candidate possible. No one would have missed the man caught in the explosion any more than they had missed the forty one other Starfleet officers killed in the attack.

Khan's tracks had been easy to cover because there hadn't been any to be found. His blood had synthesized with the girl's and produced a nearly undetectable signature. Three days later, the girl had regained consciousness. The baffled physicians entrusted to her care had informed the mother that she would make a full recovery.

The mother had stared at them with the blank, listless, grieving eyes of a widow, tears of joy and anguish coursing down her cheeks. No one had known precisely how to handle the miraculous recovery on top of the horrific incident at the London Archives. Less had they known how to explain what had happened to her daughter.

Until Khan's involvement had become clear, his untraceable tracks discovered at last.

Nevertheless, it was hardly a precedent for what occurred on the _Enterprise _under Dr. Leonard McCoy's instruction shortly after Khan had been taken into custody.

The girl had had a beating heart, pumping oxygen-rich blood throughout her veins at the time of the injection. The serum had been meant to strengthen a life that had already been there.

At the time of injection, James Tiberius Kirk was dead.

**. o .**

Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott stirred slowly in his seat, mouth twisting into a grimace as a crippling headache made itself apparent. _Damn near bashed my head in, _he thought, sluggishly reaching around to unpin his arms from the chair, the buckles retracting back into the panels. He couldn't remember his assailant's face, but it would come; once the world stopped rocking and his head stopped spinning, he'd remember. Squinting at the too bright lighting overhead (funny; he'd thought it was dark, but maybe that had been a figment of his imagination, contrived to explain the shock that had come from too many problems at once), he stood uneasily as pressure continued to mount steadily behind his eyes.

No, he couldn't seem to recall who had been responsible for the unprovoked attack (and Starfleet would be hearing about this, you bet your arse) but everything around him was slowly coming into focus, the soft, familiar hum of the warp core engine almost soothing in the silence.

_Odd, _he thought, staring at the readouts diagramming the successful transfer of fuel from the warp core reactor to the main engine. He could have sworn that it hadn't been working the last time that he'd seen it.

There'd been something about misalign -

_Fuck._

As though some universal puzzle piece had finally settled into place, a heavy, asthmatic wheeze interrupted his reverie. His heart sank, refusing to accept the harsh breathing that told him everything that he needed to know.

_Son of a bitch, _he thought, already typing in codes frantically, needing to know if there was something that he could do, some sequence that he could plug in to resolve it. There was no such thing as a no-win scenario when his engineering skills surpassed the better part of Starfleet's best and brightest. Scotty was called upon when other engineers failed, a reliable source of information that never faltered, even in the face of insurmountable odds.

But these were -

He typed as fast as he dared, needing to know if there was a chance that Kirk could be saved.

Kirk's breathing was labored behind him, wracking as he coughed. Scotty didn't look at him because _hang on a sec, Cap, just hang on and I'll get you out of this, you bet your arse -_

His fingers froze when the warp core reactor chamber readouts finally appeared on screen, fully functional.

The readings were absolute, the machine unmoved by his plight.

At the very bottom of the screen, in soft, innocuous green colors, the machine reported R98.1.

_Radiation ninety eight percent._

_Ninety eight percent._

Five minutes to decontamination, if they were lucky. Ten if the warp core's insulation was one of the older models. Looking at the licensing, Scotty's fingertips trembled.

_No._

Then, as realization descended over him like a thick, oppressive cloud: _I can't save you, Cap._

Scotty stared at the screen for several long, painful seconds, keenly aware of the ship's gentle life underneath him and Kirk's excruciating death at his side. It would be so easy to walk away from him and wait five minutes, to avoid the pain of being a witness. _I can't save you, Cap._

Kirk had been dead the second that he stepped inside the chamber. Now, without a ship to save, he was dying.

Scotty lifted his comm to his mouth and spoke mechanically, requesting Spock's presence in the bay because he needed Spock._ Kirk _needed Spock.

When he ended the transmission, the silence was tense, broken only by Kirk's erratic breathing and, distantly, Spock's clipped, hasty footsteps.

_I'm so sorry, _Scotty told Kirk silently before he met Spock's eyes and told him the same.

Spock didn't listen to him - _couldn't _listen to him - and Scotty felt the lump in his throat thicken because he couldn't listen to Kirk, he needed to do something, anything, a manual override, a system reboot -

It wouldn't work, and he knew it. He was a technological wonder, but he was no god.

And so Montgomery Scott, chief engineer aboard the _Enterprise, _turned aside and quietly let his captain die.

**. o .**

Kirk's skin was still abnormally hot to the touch when the medical officers arrived on the scene less than a minute after Spock's departure. They carried his limp form out of the chamber with the delicacy and solemnity befitting a king.

Except Kirk didn't look like a king, Uhura thought, as she watched one of them - clad in a heavy white suit designed to protect from any residual radiation - lift him. He looked like a broken toy, wound up too many times and then smashed against a wall, broken and dead.

They laid him on a biobed almost tenderly, their grief masked by their professionalism as one felt for a pulse, another holding a sensor to his chest.

After a moment, they recorded the time of death and led the biobed away. Uhura followed them to the medical bay, wondering what twisted, sickening ploy of the universe had led them to _this._

Spock Prime hadn't mentioned Kirk's premature death in any of his reports. He had spoken carefully, refusing to let any details - however innocuous - slip past him.

Once, Uhura recalled Spock Prime and _he _- their Spock, young and vibrant and _theirs _- discussing ship mechanics and Kirk's name cropping up, once by their Spock's suggestion, once by Spock Prime's.

Spock Prime had smiled as he had said it, and Uhura had known that Kirk had lived a long life in his time. She had seen it in Spock Prime's eyes, a certain glow that had bespoken a friendship that had lasted for eons.

It had been comforting, then, and even if she had known and shared the hostility between Kirk and Spock at times, she had still looked at them on the bridge and thought, _I'm glad that they met each other._

They had needed each other, although it had taken Uhura almost as long as Spock to realize it. Both were single-minded, Kirk reckless, Spock precise, but their hot-cold temperaments meshed oddly well together. Spock had needed Kirk's provocation to cure him of the delusion that he was immune to his own feelings (even Uhura had not been able to elicit more than one quiet, brief moment of tenderness, of _need _in him before he was Commander Spock once more, unwilling to accept his own emotional responses). He'd needed time to grieve, and Kirk had forced him to. Kirk hadn't backed down even when it had almost come at the cost of his own life.

In return Spock was Kirk's solidarity. He was the one that Kirk relied upon, an unwavering soldier, a calm commander, a level-headed officer that balanced out Kirk's extraordinary compulsions. Spock was the one Kirk needed when things started to go downhill, but he was also the first that he wanted to dismiss when a situation turned deadly, the first that he would rather tie to the bridge than endanger.

Uhura knew without asking that they would step into the crossfire for each other, that they would protect each other at all costs. Kirk might not have the same intensive combat training as Spock, nor the same intellectual capacity nor emotional restraint, but he was powerful and capable in his own regard, and he could watch his back when Spock needed him.

The sheer overwhelming _devastation _on Spock's face as he rose from his seat beside the chamber door staggered her. Because he'd promised to protect Kirk, he'd promised to save him, and he had failed.

Her ears were ringing too loudly for her to hear him, but she saw Spock's eyes and knew without asking that he would kill Khan.

Part of her wanted to go with him. The greater part of her knew that he would never permit her to, so she let him go, and she stayed with Kirk (and Scotty, tearful and red-eyed and _anguished, _but so peripheral that it didn't matter if there had been a thousand looking eyes; nothing could have pulled her gaze from Kirk).

It was her promise to Spock, in that moment: _I'll look after Kirk. I'll watch him._

He didn't need watching anymore.

But when the medical team whisked him away, there was nothing that she could do but follow.

**. o .**

Bones had hoped that he would never be confronted with a body bag while on board the _Enterprise. _It was purely wishful thinking as the _Narada _attacks quickly spoiled the delusion.

Being part of Starfleet was dangerous. Good officers, cadets, and crewmen died on a daily basis. It was his hope not to avoid death entirely, but to avoid its more gruesome remnants, the cold hard reality that they had once lived but would live no hadn't been prepared for it - no medical officer ever was, until the first body bag was presented to him, its unliving contents a stark reminder that death was an inherent, inescapable part of life.

Just like gravity: what exists, must cease to exist. What lives, must die.

When they wheeled him in and unwrapped the top half of the body bag, slowly, venerably, Bones couldn't look at him. He couldn't look but he did, and all he could see was a bright, warm smile, a vexed frown, a quirked eyebrow, a child-like grin, open and trusting and _happy. _He was always so damn happy to be on board the _Enterprise_, so damn _excited _to be a part of Starfleet. He had complained about unfair teachers and slow learners like the rest of them, but he had still loved it, had loved being the center of attention even if it just meant that he had his ass handed to him, had loved being a part of something great. Something special. He'd always wanted his own ship, always wanted to be _captain, _to be in control, to do great things, and once he had it - well, Bones knew that nothing could pull him away from that. He'd live and die in space, aboard his ship, among his crew, and that was the simple, undeniable truth.

Still, looking down at him, Bones swallowed and felt the grief twisting in his gut, gnawing at him, because _fuck, _Jim.

_You weren't supposed to get yourself killed. You weren't supposed to die on my watch._

He reached out to touch him and turned away instead, head reeling, muscles spasming, hands trembling as he reached out for the table, grasping it for support. _Breathe, _he told himself, but it was too much, too soon, too sudden, too _finite _to accept. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't _move_, frozen in place as something twitched, then rustled, then _purred._

He looked up at the tribble as it shuddered once and compressed inwards, relaxing after a moment and _wriggling._

For one long moment, it didn't compute, it didn't register at all in Bones' mind what it meant.

Then he was barking orders into his comm, barking orders at anyone in a ten foot radius, because _we can still save him, Goddammit, get me a cryo tube._

**. o .**

Spock no longer cared about rationality as he ran.

All that mattered was the fresh air in his lungs, the cool cement beneath his feet, and the urgent need to capture, to _kill._

Khan was quick, but Spock was determined, single-minded and unrelenting, following him across narrow streets and onto unstable platforms. When the hovercraft lifted his sole thought was _No _before he leaped, catching the edges and hauling himself partially on board before Khan met him.

His training had not prepared him for Khan's strength or dexterity. Khan evaded blows and delivered them in the same movement, dancing across the platform but leaving no doubts as to his intentions as he forced Spock to the edge, grabbing his skull and _crushing, crushing, crushing -_

Spock melded minds with him without a thought, unleashing a tide of emotion and _pain _so strong that it forced Khan off long enough for him to regain his footing.

His head ached terribly but still he fought, unaware of the ache as anything more than a distant pain.

_I can deal with it later, _he decided as he dealt blow after blow to Khan's head, missing his mark twice and landing a third only to be thrown as Khan leaped to another craft.

His reflexes were three steps ahead of his mind as he ran to the edge of his platform and _jumped._

His arm caught in one of the hooks, a grunt of pain dying in his throat as Khan approached, dark and ominous, impatient. He had no reason to keep Spock alive any longer than he needed to, and Spock knew it, as he secured a hold on him once more, already beginning his mind-numbing squeeze.

Spock held on as tightly as he could, prying at his arms even as Khan pressed them indubitably forward.

_Kirk, _he thought, and suddenly it was a chant, a mantra, as he gritted his teeth and _snarled, Kirk, Kirk, Kirk, Kirk._

Nyota appeared and for one dazed moment Spock wondered if he had somehow summoned her accidentally, his own logic betraying him as he realized that Kirk was dead and nothing could bring him back, but maybe something could bring him aid, at least, to finish what needed to be done. Khan was already rising, ready to finish both of them, Spock had no doubt, but Nyota fired stunners at him, six in rapid succession, a seventh and eighth crippling him.

Spock was there before she could sheath her weapon, ripping a metal panel off the hovercraft and slamming it into Khan's face. _Stunned, _he thought, _but not dead._

He was grabbing Khan's arm and - mindless, _animal _- twisting it, breaking it as Khan snarled, a savage, inhuman cry escaping him when Spock released it. He didn't give him a chance to recover, _punchpunchpunchpunch, _every shred of training poured into the mechanical, mindless motion, needing to incapacitate, to stop, to maim, to _kill._

"Spock," Nyota was saying, distant and unimportant as Khan continued to sneer up at him and Spock saw a flash of Kirk's face, his heavy breathing as he doubled over, trying to inflict some damage, _any _on that cold, unyielding facade. He slammed his fist against him, over and over and over, Nyota's voice high and then -

"_He can save Kirk!_"

Spock's hand - stilled, briefly, as he looked at her, then, visibly composing himself because he was _Spock, _Commander Spock of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, one of the last remaining Vulcans in existence. He was more than this, no matter how fiercely the desire for vengeance _burned_ him. With a tiny nod, barely an incline of his head, he lifted the metal panel that he had used before and slammed it down in a thunderous undercut.

Khan was unconscious before the buzzing in Spock's own head had ceased. As Spock lowered the panel, lifting his comm shakily to his mouth, "Spock to _Enterprise_, come in_Enterprise_," he couldn't help but feel the rush of adrenaline fading from his veins, making him sag with defeat as he realized that none of it left him feeling satisfied and avenged. He felt helpless, useless, and wrung, responding listlessly to the _Enterprise's _confirmation that they would beam the three of them aboard.

_It will work, _he told himself.

_Based on what facts?_

To that, he had no ready answer.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, all. truffles here.

Thanks for your support, your enthusiasm, and your interest. As always, it is tremendously appreciated.

~truffles


	2. Acting Captain's Log

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Spock Prime did not flinch when Spock told him the news.

"Tell me," Spock implored, his own eyes hard as he looked at the screened transmission, beamed to his private quarters so he would not have to risk unveiling his uncertainty to the rest of the crew, "will he survive?"

"It is . . . _unusual _that the time continuum would correct itself this way," Spock Prime admitted, his eyes sunken and weary but still bright, intelligent. "I am fortunate that neither Nero nor I had the capacity to return to our own time line, or I fear time travel would be a far more common practice than it is. Even correcting this one alteration has come at the cost of your captain."

"He is yours as well," Spock reminded, because, though mind-boggling it was, they were the same being. Spock would _become _Spock Prime, given enough time, but - he wouldn't, because the time lines had been altered irreparably and there was no telling what would become of him, _who _he would become.

"He is not my captain," Spock Prime corrected, his eyes opaque, sitting back in his chair carefully. "Mine died."

Spock flinched.

"It is unusual," Spock Prime repeated, refusing to let Spock dwell on that singularly uncheerful thought - _mine died _- as he spoke, "that the time line would choose a premature departure for someone who plays such a fundamental role in the shaping of its future." Looking Spock in the eyes, not merely in a conversational way but in a soul-searching, _I know you _way, he said, "If Kirk is truly dead, Spock, then I fear that your universe has separated so completely from my own that we are no longer parallel universes; we are _splinter _verses. Though our populations may look alike, this may be the last convergence of our personalities: how the crew will cope with the loss of its captain and how Starfleet will continue without him are impossible to determine. However, I can say that the statistical likelihood that you will become akin to me and my life from this point onward is ten billion to one."

"There are that many universes?" Spock asked, momentarily unseated by the thought that there could be so many Spocks and Kirks and _people _in existence.

Spock Prime's lips twitched. It might have been a smile. "That is but a tiny fraction of the whole, for those are only _timelines, _Spock. Before that, we cannot enter, and beyond it, we do not exist."

"Are you suggesting a universal apocalypse?" Spock asked, surprised by the morbidity of it.

"For Vulcans and Earthlings? Perhaps," Spock Prime said, rubbing one temple in an odd show of vulnerability. "We cannot travel to incompatible universes. You and I are Vulcan, but we are also half-human. We cannot travel to a time before Vulcans and humans were created, and we cannot travel to a time beyond their existence. No time traveler is capable of upsetting the universal fabric in a way that it cannot repair. It will destroy you or repel you, but it will not grant you the ability to affect a world that was not meant to have your species' in it." Settling his arm against the side of the chair, Spock Prime admitted, "In some ways, I was always destined to become a part of your universe so that you could become what you were destined to be."

Spock's head ached, but he did not let it show on his face as he asked, "Who determines our destiny?"

"I do not know," was all Spock Prime said. "However, I have seen the changes take place between our two adjacent time lines, and I know that we are largely autonomous creatures. For the most part, we are free to choose our own destiny, Spock."

Steepling his hands, Spock Prime explained, "Our destinies change when we as people change. Kirk's changed as soon as his father sacrificed himself to spare eight hundred of his crew members. It is outward events that affect our inward perception of life. We choose how to respond to these influences, and those decisions shape our selves - and, ultimately, our destinies. My very presence altered both of your lives: had it not been for my intervention, Kirk might not have reached you in time to prevent you from reaching the Laurentian system and being promptly destroyed by Nero's awaiting ship. Or, alternately, without my counsel, he might not have known how to regain control of his ship and you would have ejected him a second time to a planet that I was incapable of reaching."

Spock bowed his head, knowing that Spock Prime wasn't rebuking him for the decisions but feeling the chastisement all the same. "I did what was logical," he said.

"Indeed," Spock Prime agreed. "If you had acted differently, then I cannot predict how events would have unfolded, however . . . I am of the adamant belief that you are good, Spock, and your growth has been substantial in these past few years." More quietly, he added, "Mother would be proud of you as well."

The lump in Spock's throat was almost unbearable. "How long did she - "

"Spock." Gentle. Stern.

Spock inclined his head. "Forgive me. I am . . . emotionally compromised by recent events."

"Understandably." Spock Prime was quiet for a time, weighing his next words carefully. Spock waited, unassuming, as he stood in front of the screen, until Spock Prime said, even more gently than before, "I do not know if he will live."

"No one does," Spock reminded, but the confirmation made his stomach twist. He'd hoped that contacting his older self might bring a measure of peace to him. He hadn't expected the first blow - _mine died _- but he'd braced himself for the inevitable. It still hurt, more than he'd imagined it would, but he kept his expression calm as he asked, "What do you believe?"

Spock Prime did not even blink before he responded, "Do no harm." Then, galvanized, he added, "Protect your ship."

Spock nodded once, accepting the answer. Spock Prime could not guarantee that Kirk would live, nor could he add his voice to either party - optimistic or pessimistic - but he could offer a thread of hope, a bright red line to cling to, regardless of what happened. They would need it, Spock realized, because in Kirk's place, _he _was acting captain, and the ship's morale was already down after the _Vengeance's _attacks. Six of Starfleet's highest officers were dead, and many more had been injured and killed during the subsequent attacks, their own captain among them. Even the first attack at the London archives had killed forty two. Khan was a war criminal and the ship had barely survived its encounter with him; they needed someone like Kirk to keep their strength from waning in these final hours.

_We still need power,_ Spock assessed, because while their emergency grid was still online, they still had no source of power outside their warp core generator. Kirk's sacrifice had bought them all their lives; Sulu had pulled them out of Earth's atmosphere and back in the safe cushion of space where no gravitational force would drag them down. Although they could not float forever, they dared not risk the warp core's engine attempting to reach the Laurentian system where most of the Starfleet officers remaining were still banked. Those ships would be returning to headquarters soon enough to assess the damage, and though it may take weeks, they would eventually come across the _Enterprise _and assist with repairs. They had already successfully gotten communications back online; hailing the U.S.S. _Bradbury _was their secondary directive as the nearest Starfleet ship with a large enough crew to assist with docking and further repairs.

Until anyone else arrived to assist them, though, they were alone, and they were shaken, if relieved that they had survived. Nero's attacks had hardened the resolve of everyone on board until it seemed as if no threat could stand before them, but Khan's had torn it down, had bared them to the soul and exposed their deepest, most intimate fears.

_I have lost two captains, _Spock realized, the ache in his heart magnified tenfold as the weight of that crashed over him. His jaw tensed, but his eyes remained dry as he turned back to face Spock Prime, the image of deep space outside his window - and Pike's face, blood trailing out of the corner of his mouth and eyes wide in terror - disintegrating.

"I know that you have suffered tremendous losses," Spock Prime said, and Spock wondered what it must be like, then, knowing that he could never return to his own timeline. While Spock Prime's presence might have saved theirs, it barred him from his own, preventing him from ever seeing the faces of those that he had loved ever again.

_Mine died._

It was hard to imagine living in a world without Kirk. Nyota as well, perhaps: she was human. Sulu, Chekov, even Dr. McCoy and Scotty would likely have perished at such a time. Dozens of half-familiar faces on the bridge and admirals and officers at home. _They will die, _Spock knew, with a profound sadness that almost drove him to his knees, _and I will be alone._

But he wasn't, because he had come back - he'd come _here, _and he'd seen them again, in their youth, bright and invigorated and reckless. He'd seen Scotty marooned on Delta Vega for his undiscovered trans-warp beaming theorem. He'd seen himself strangling Kirk on the bridge, filled with such an intense, overwhelming _anger _that all he wanted was to kill him, to silence the voices that had never ceased, only quieted over the years: _He's a traitor, you know. For marrying her. T__hat human whore. _He'd seen Uhura, fierce and intelligent and commanding once more, engaging in a romance with him that he'd never predicted but enjoyed, nonetheless. He'd seen Dr. McCoy barking orders, angry but affectionate, while Chekov and Sulu alternately took the conn.

All of them, he'd seen again - seen after so many years apart that it took Spock's breath away, that his chest heaved as he turned away from the screen, grasping the edge of a table tensely.

"We are one and the same, Spock," Spock Prime remarked after a time as he was still catching his breath from the overwhelming influx of emotion and feeling and _existence_. "Though it may seem impossible, we both carry the same . . . spirit within us. Our memories, our experiences are different, but I have been joined with you by entering your timeline. However, I am separate from you; I am not who you will become, though I hope that I can be your friend."

Spock inclined his head, the throbbing in it reaching a crescendo. "I hope for that as well," was all he said as black dots spotted his vision. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to be forgiven," Spock Prime assured. "You have endured a great deal for your crew. I am hopeful that Khan's blood may be the universe's temporal correction, but I can guarantee nothing."

"Temporal correction," Spock echoed, turning to face him even as his legs threatened to cave on him. "You believe that the universe is inclined to ensure that Kirk lives?"

"We are all pawns," Spock Prime said bluntly, "but Kirk is a more decisive pawn than a thousand others like him. It would be unwise for the universe to remove him so early from the game. His influence affects a great deal of events. Entire civilizations, even."

Spock nodded. There was something compulsive about Kirk, something fierce and unrelenting, a magnetic polarity that other people gravitated towards. Spock could not claim immunity, nor could any other member on the ship: when Kirk lead them into the farthest reaches of space with only six dozen torpedoes of unknown strength and capacity ready to bombard a war criminal, no one mutinied. (Mr. Scott resigned, but even he resumed duty when Kirk called upon him.) Even though he counseled against Kirk's actions, even Spock could not say that he had actively overridden Kirk's orders. He was first officer, but even he could deem the captain unfit for duty if need be and claim his position; Spock had not.

Some might call Kirk a rule breaker, bending the universal laws to suit his needs: Spock thought of him more as a game changer, someone capable of altering entire worlds with his influence.

The prospect of a universe without him - and, subsequently, _billions _of universes without him - was worse than heart-wrenching. It was borderline unfathomable.

"Dr. Leonard McCoy is a competent physician," Spock Prime continued without prompting. "If there is anyone capable of reviving Kirk at this point, then I believe it is him." He paused, letting that sink in, before adding seriously, "This is all uncharted science, Spock. I cannot predict what Kirk will be like if he awakens."

Spock conceded that point to him silently. Dr. McCoy had assured that Kirk's brain was undamaged courtesy of the rapid treatment, but there was no way of knowing what he would be like once he awoke. If he awoke. Khan's blood, if nothing else, was cause for concern.

"If he awakens," Spock echoed, glancing down at his communicator as it beeped. "I am required on the bridge."

"Go if you are needed, rest if you are not," Spock Prime advised. Holding up his hand in the Vulcan salute, he added, "Thank you. Though it is grievous news, I am grateful that you have told me."

Spock nodded, mirroring the gesture. "It would be . . . poetically unjust to withhold the news from myself."

Spock Prime's lips might have curled into a smile before Spock terminated the transmission. It seemed extraordinary to him that Spock Prime _could _smile, given recent events.

_Either Kirk awakens, or he does not, _Spock reminded himself. _I have no control over it._

It was a sobering thought, one that he carried with him onto the bridge, calm and cool once more.

**. o .**

"Acting Captain's log. Stardate 2259.58.

"I have temporarily resumed captaincy of the U.S.S. _Enterprise _after Captain Kirk died from radiation poisoning at 0800 hours."

Spock paused, bowing his head briefly before resuming.

"We have taken the war criminal known as Khan into custody. After successful experimentation with another life form, Dr. McCoy determined that it may be possible to revive Kirk using Khan's blood. In order to prevent brain damage, Kirk was placed in one of the confiscated cryo tubes to enter a deep freeze after removing its former occupant. The former occupant was placed into an artificial coma while Khan was being apprehended.

"While Dr. McCoy worked to preserve Kirk's body, I beamed to Earth's surface and retrieved Khan with the assistance of Lieutenant Uhura. We obtained a blood sample and Dr. McCoy injected it into Kirk's body."

Looking over at the figure on the bed, Spock let some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he reported, "As of 0900 hours, Captain Kirk has a detectable heart beat, approximately forty beats per minute. Though comatose, brainwave activity is also detectable.

"Heavily irradiated, Kirk is still, indubitably, _alive_.

"Further medical report will be submitted separately."

**. o .**

Spock worked the next three shifts untiringly.

While Ensign Chekov worked ceaselessly to designate the ship's emergency power grid evenly among the oxygenation, pressure, and lighting systems, Helmsman Sulu applied thrusters sparingly to keep them out of any nearby planet's gravitational pull, occasionally pausing to hail one of their superiors via recently restored communications systems. (Lieutenant Uhura's hacking abilities also extended to passable repair skills; she had brought communications back online by redirecting a third of the lighting system towards rebooting a basic satellite telecommunications' system most Starfleet ships no longer needed that would permit them to reach Earth and, perhaps, the next two planets in either direction, but no farther. Thankfully Spock Prime had returned to Earth to assess damage at Starfleet's headquarters when Spock hailed him.)

Engineer Scott was down at the Engineering platform directing cadets to fix everything within their capacity (not enough to get their power back online, it seemed, but enough to prevent any unexpected leakages; equally commendable, in Spock's consideration, as a single leakage could potentially destroy another large portion of the ship). All other cadets had been ordered to assist their superiors when necessary - technicians, physicians, and physicists among them - or report to the Transporting bay to assist with the alignment of the cryo tubes. Khan was kept heavily sedated before being transferred to a cryo tube, but Spock still took no chances as he ordered any advanced level combat-trained cadets to report to the bridge for instructions on his transportation. It wasn't until three separate officers reported that Khan was in the tube and frozen that Spock breathed deeply for the first time in days.

After that, there was little else that he could do. Sulu had negotiated to use some of their warp power to bring them closer to a repair dock where they might be able to hail further assistance, shifting to Warp-1 and easing the _Enterprise _forward. Chekov seemed to have all systems under control, and Uhura was already speaking on a line with Earth about damages and casualties from the attacks. (Her brow was pinched and her mouth tensed as she listened. After a moment, Spock had stood at her side quietly so that he could hear the reports as well, turning to leave before the officer said more than _up in the ten thousands._)

Thousands of people, dead, because of Khan. More injured, and an entire base destroyed during the _Vengeance's _kamikaze attack. It did not surprise Spock that no one had come to their aid; every available Starfleet officer on the ground was dealing with their own carnage, and as long as the _Enterprise _could stay afloat and alive for a few more weeks, then they would need to manage on their own. Most of their transporter ships had been destroyed during Admiral Marcus' attacks: he had not wanted anyone to survive and report his crimes, so he had aimed for the most vital parts of the ship.

Even so, they had offered to beam any survivors that wished to assist with the carnage on Earth or simply recover from their own trauma.

Admirably or foolishly, none had taken it. No one in medical bay was fit for transport yet, but Spock would provide them with the same option that he had the previous cadets via shipwide transmission.

("They won't go," Uhura had told him, looking him in the eyes and cupping his cheek in one hand as he transported in one of the ship's main elevators down, down, down. "They want to help, Spock.")

By the time he realized that it had been three days since he had slept, Spock almost sank into the captain's seat and closed his eyes right there. Vulcans required only brief periods of rest, but humans needed more, bright sunbursts of energy that they were. Vulcans were more restrained: their fires glowed dimmer but lasted longer, while humans burned bright and fierce and short. Aboard the _Enterprise, _Spock's work was exhaustive and stressful, even if his outward visage was calm, and periodic rest was needed for him to function, let alone command. He'd almost forgotten about the crippling headache that Khan had left him with after trying to crush his skull to pieces; it hadn't seemed important as he helped the rest of the ship.

Still, as he descended alone, he found himself stepping out into the quiet platform of the medical bay instead of the command hall where his and the highest officers' quarters were. The physicians on duty moved quickly about their work, patching wounds and healing limbs and providing solace in every touch. They acknowledged him quietly, with muted deference as they stepped aside to let him pass and even saluted him when he paused to address one directly. "At ease," he would tell them, one by one until he reached the end of the hall, assessing each injured ship member's condition. Some were healing well, others were not. Broken limbs and scratches were relatively easy to cure, but burns and more grievous injuries required time, patience, and ultimately, luck.

They would not all survive, Spock knew, and it plagued him, how he could justify saving Kirk's life without offering the same balm to the other ship mates. They had served loyally upon the _Enterprise _and had not done anything to deserve their untimely ends. Rank was not the only factors: among the tens of thousands below were high command Starfleet officers that he could have offered aid to; all he would have needed to do was beam atop Earth's surface once more and provide the magical cure.

It was magic, to some degree, the regenerative quality that Khan's blood had. No other substance was quite like it, though it closely resembled ordinary blood. It was - stronger, somehow, more resilient, as though the cells had mutated over time to combat even the most dire physical enemies. Spock knew that it was not through outward influences that Khan's blood had developed so extraordinarily; he had been imprisoned in his cryo tube for three centuries before Admiral Marcus finally awoke him.

Dr. McCoy did not know either, but every spare moment not monitoring Kirk's vitals was spent restlessly studying the substance.

It was impossible to judge how Kirk would respond to it upon awakening - for awakening seemed undeniable to them now that they had had some success, in spite of the fever that he had developed that could not be broken or the near total skin and organ damage from the radiation poisoning - but Spock suspected that a large enough dosage could produce unusual side effects. A stronger immune system, a shorter sleep cycle, a more accessible mind: all crossed Spock's mind as he entered the code outside Kirk's room and entered.

Former Captain James Tiberius Kirk was standing there with bright, blue eyes that weren't his own.

Spock had his arms up defensively before he thought twice about it, Dr. McCoy sprawled on the floor by the bed, one hand clenched painfully around the side of his head. Though he couldn't see any outward damage, Spock had no doubts about what had occurred there as Kirk's arm flashed out. He caught and twisted it behind his back, Kirk's torso heaving with deep, shuddering breaths, his bright blue eyes staring at the room in breathless confusion as he flailed against Spock, stronger than he should be.

"Captain, you are hallucinating," he told him, because it was the only solution that made sense, the only one that would justify Kirk's consciousness, erratic behavior, and abnormal desire to harm those closest to him.

Kirk let out a low, unintelligible string of words, tripping over each other as he thrashed, Spock's arms bracing him tightly inward. _Adrenalin, _he decided, because he didn't want to think about it if this was Kirk _weakened _and half-beaten and radiating heat with Khan's blood. Though it might help reduce his own personal injury if he was even stronger fully healthy with Khan's blood, it would endanger everyone to have a superhuman aboard, regardless of how good or evil he was.

An elbow to the stomach winded Spock, forcing him to release his captive. Seconds later, Kirk was on the offensive, snarling as he slammed his fists against Spock's back, hunched over to protect his head as he regained his breath. Just as Kirk was reeling back to slam him against the door, Spock caught him in a fierce undercut, using Kirk's momentum to slam him against the wall instead. _That will not assist with the broken ribs, _Spock thought, absentmindedly, as Kirk fought his hold, forcing him to release it. They were face-to-face and Kirk was still fighting it, still refusing to accept that Spock was a friend, and Spock's stomach sank as he realized that this might be -_  
_

_No._

He wouldn't accept it, and he tensed his jaw as he reached out and melded minds with Kirk.

Anger scorched him, followed by a deluge that he could not hope to stop.

_He was crawling through a tunnel and his hands burned, his feet burned, every breath he took burned as he climbed and climbed and climbed, ignoring the emergency systems blaring around him because he had to make it to the top or he would die, everyone would die but he couldn't let them die, he couldn't let Spock-Scotty-Bones die, Uhura-Sulu-Chekov, couldn't let them die but it hurt so much it was a volcano, he's breathing in the ash and it sears, it stings and it hurts and he can't bear it anymore, one breath of fresh air would be worth a lifetime, one moment of coolness, of freedom from the irradiating heat but he has to climb climb climb and the tower's so high that he wants to cry because Scotty-Chekov-Sulu-Uhura-Bones-**SPOCK** never mentioned it was going to be this hot and it's so hot that it hurts it hurts it hurts his hands are burning off they're going to fall off but he has to climb climb climb for them, once he reaches the top he'll breathe and they'll live and he'll be a hero like his dad but he doesn't want to be a hero because he doesn't want to die, he never wanted to die, Spock, why is he dying, he saved the ship, it's all_ _blue-white-**SPOCK** as the world explodes and he can't even crawl but there's a little green light so he follows it and drags drags drags himself but his feet hurt, his legs hurt, his lungs hurt but he crawls and he crawls and he's on his side coughing and it hurts but he's there and there's glass and he doesn't need to feel it to know that it's cool, so cool, so much cooler than the heat burning him, roasting him, eating him alive and he's going to die but he never wanted to die, he's scared, he's terrified, he doesn't want to die, Spock, please, Spock, Spock,_ **SPOCK.**

Kirk was trembling in his arms when Spock came back to himself. His own chest was so tight that he thought it would explode, even though he knew that logically he was fine, everything was fine, his own lungs were fully functional and the room temperature a little cool for his tastes, nothing more.

"I," and Spock was at a loss for words as he swallowed, Dr. McCoy watching them from the corner with sharp, haunted eyes as Kirk released his death grip on him, sagging weakly towards the floor.

"Easy, big fella," Dr. McCoy grunted as he slipped his own arms underneath Kirk's and hauled him back to his feet. Kirk didn't resist him, Spock stepping in quietly to lift his legs when he turned to dead weight in McCoy's arms and slumped against them.

"Doctor, I believe you should have that examined," Spock said quietly, once they had Kirk situated on the bed once more. Dr. McCoy was probing the left side of his head gingerly, shaking it carefully after a moment and wincing.

"_Mild_ concussion," he assessed. "Damn bastard clocked my head but I'll be fine. I'll instruct Nurse Chapel to take over while I recover."

Spock nodded once and said nothing, his own head throbbing. "I believe it would be wise for me to stay with Kirk," he said slowly. "Nurse Chapel may be present, but I would not want him to attack her as he attacked you."

Dr. McCoy eyed him doubtfully for a moment. "You look like you've been through Hell and back, Spock," was all he said.

Spock's eyes were calm but he could still feel the residual flames of the unseen fire searing him. "Indeed, Doctor," he replied, taking the only seat in the room while Dr. McCoy punched in a code and ordered Nurse Chapel to report for duty.

**. o .**

It took seven days for Kirk's fever to break.

Spock became so accustomed to seeing him abnormally flushed and hot to the touch that his heart skipped a beat the first time that he saw Kirk lying in bed, a healthy flush to his cheeks. Dr. McCoy had been permitted to remain his physician even after they transported him from one of the docking stations back to Earth and, from there, to one of San Francisco's chief medical facilities.

The _Enterprise _had successfully docked at one of the space ports and relieved the majority of its crew, retaining only its highest officers to assist with further repairs and negotiations (in the midst of all the attacks, a healthy dose of diplomacy had been a welcome reprieve; Starfleet officers on the port were more than happy to assist with the transfer of the crew once they realized what had happened). It took two days to settle everything, the _Enterprise's _repairs underway as its crew returned to Earth for a much needed release.

Spock had broadcast a shipwide transmission before unloading began to tell them all that they had performed admirably and would receive his own personal recommendation once matters were settled. The crew seemed profoundly relieved as they disembarked, even smiling at him as they offered grateful murmurs and simple salutes. One had the audacity to flash him the Vulcan salute, and he responded in kind. _  
_

"Lieutenant Uhura," he'd said, as she embraced him briefly and asked, softly, so that the others wouldn't hear, "How is he?"

"Well."

Spock could not tell her about the prior incident - he had not dared; if Kirk was seen as a threat, then he would be eliminated - but it gnawed at him.

The ship needed a competent captain, but neither captain nor crew nor ship were up to the task, so all had been discharged for varying degrees of rest.

It would takes weeks to restore the _Enterprise _to full working order, but there were plenty of diplomatic exchanges that needed to take place until then, Klingons to placate and the rest of the universe to watch. Earth was in its own state of disrepair from the attacks, disarmed by Starfleet's apparent attack on a civilian population. (It took forty eight hours for the first stories regarding the war criminal Khan's actions to surface on the news; by then, most of the world suspected that Starfleet itself had committed the treason against the planet that it had promised to protect. Undoing such damage was still a process, if the heightened security around Starfleet's main base was anything to judge by.)

Spock had never seen so many Starfleet officers on the ground at one time before: every ship that could reach Earth within sixty days had been ordered to return and dock at the nearest space port. The _Enterprise _was fortunately reserved a spot at one of its closest receptors, sparing its weary crew an additional two day journey by a small transporter unit to Earth. Other ships were forced to dock as far as three days' out, their crews returned from even farther reaches of the galaxy. Altogether, the 'fleet was impressive to behold, and Spock understood at once the measure of security seeing so many officers - and even red-shirted cadets - on the ground brought to the grieving people of San Francisco.

London, too, received its share of Starfleet officers, as did smaller basis across the world. They assisted with repairs while every diplomatically trained officer available broadcasted into deep space reporting the situation in a hundred, a thousand different locations. Some had left peaceful operations to return home briefly under good circumstances; others were battle weary, having tackled unruly civilizations into submission after the Federation's might alone did not quell them. Even for a Starfleet officer, it was a reassuring sight, knowing how little Khan had damaged them as a whole.

Two weeks passed with constant negotiations, carefully and quietly planned so only small parties of the highest circles convened at any given time. New officers were promoted while others were discharged due to injury. Some were given a higher rank for the first time, the new glow of a blue or gold shirt bringing Spock a measure of satisfaction.

It was good to see so much healing, so much _progress _when so much felt broken. Logistically, he knew that the attacks - while severe - were not the worst that the Federation had weathered. Vulcan had been consumed totally, and other planets ravaged by warfare and hunger and other deadlier maladies. Strife from within leading to civil wars that lasted for centuries, unexpected mutinies that overturned decades' worth of diplomacy, and unanticipated spacial alterations - black holes, for instance - often caused discord within the Federation, and it was Starfleet's mission to explore and protect where possible. They were not to endanger their crew unless it could not be avoided, even if it came at great costs. Some disobeyed this ordinance, however, and they were the heart of the 'fleet, those that the innocents below looked upon with something akin to respect.

Kirk was one of them, Spock knew. Someone that elders respected and children engaged, that parents trusted with children and chiefs with tribes. Someone that represented the brazen willingness of Starfleet as a whole to _boldly _go where no one had ever gone before, regardless of the personal risk. Someone that was strong and loving and capable, that would gladly pitch a snowball fight in order to bond with the natives even if it cost them precious negotiation time with the elders.

(_Spock didn't think that he would ever get that particular memory out of his head. _

_It was a small, unnamed planet, many light years from home but still, oddly, home-like, with small ice-huts rising up like pods across the tundra's surface. The locals seemed friendly, but their tongue was unfamiliar, barring them from asking any pertinent questions or receiving understandable answers. Laughter was the most common trait among them: they laughed often and freely, sharing hot drinks and warm clothing with the freezing Starfleet officers. [Once more, technology malfunctioned in the freeze: their space suits only provided flimsy insulation against the cold.] _

_They were humanoid but pure white from head to toe with blue markings decorating their bodies. Exaggerated whorls and loops and spikes highlighted their faces, and it quickly became apparent that age distinguished the intensity of the color: the elders were all darker blue while the youngsters were closer to cerulean. Some had more than one color - their healers were designated with blue and yellow, their cooks blue and red, and their storytellers with blue and green - and others were almost pure white, with only small circles of blue dots marking them as one of them._

_All in all, communications had not been going poorly, but they had not been going well, either. Every attempt that Uhura made was met with a rousing round of laughter, her frustration only increasing its volume over time. Their lonely blue sun was setting by the time the children emerged from the huts, laughing and screeching at each other as snowballs were flung. One almost clipped Spock in the side as a particularly bold child threw one at him; another successfully smacked Kirk in the head as the children brayed with laughter._

_The ice was hard, so it __cracked as it hit. One of the elders spoke up sharply, doubtless in chastisement [or encouragement; Spock would never actually know, given the prodding and round of laughter that occurred immediately after], but Kirk waved his hands in a placating gesture - a universal 'it's fine, it's fine' - as he reached down with his sealskin gloves and packed snow into a ball. _

_He looked to the elders and held out a hand, wordlessly asking permission. Another one - a rather large one at that - brayed with laughter as the other three made quick, affirmative gestures, apparently amused._

_Kirk charged into the pack of children, twenty or more, none taller than his waist but all somewhere between there and his knees as they took off, quick and nimble over the ice. _

_Kirk was graceless but determined, ducking an arm to protect his face as a snowball punched through the air and smacked into his arm, another hitting his side as the children continued to giggle. When he slipped on the ice and landed flat on his back, the laughter was overwhelming, the children quickly converging over him before he let out a roar and stood up, three dangling off both arms and his neck. As he romped around, no less than two clinging to him at any given time as the others attempted to turn him into a walking snowman, Spock noticed the elders exchanging bets with Scotty, who was bundled up so tightly in furs only his bright red noses and eyes were visible. _

_"It's like some bastardized version of Scottish," he was telling them, as the aliens continued to place bets. Kirk fell three more times within the hour before turning on the sea of children and giving chase. _

_They ran half across the ice field in their line of sight, slipping and stumbling and shrieking, snowballs flying. It wasn't until one of the elders whistled loudly __before the children returned, panting and ice-covered. _

_Kirk was being cheerfully dragged behind four of them, eyes closed and one arm surrendered in dramatic defeat as they towed him along the ice. When they stopped at the foot of one of the elders, he held out his spear and prodded Kirk's stomach with the soft end of it, eliciting a sharp yelp in response. The elders laughed, mimicking the gesture - and Spock could not deny that it sounded like one of the seals they discovered two days later - before the one that had prodded him helped him to his feet, holding out a hand to one of the children and towing them both along to his hut._

_After that, negotiations went well. They were curious about the big furry one that called himself Captain and drank the same hot beer that they did but played with children. It took the better part of a week before they understood anything remotely interstellar - Starfleet as a whole seemed beyond them - but despite freezing half to death and burning his throat the other half of the time, Kirk enjoyed himself. The others did, too, although Spock was relieved to be back aboard the _Enterprise _shortly thereafter._

_The children hadn't wanted to let Kirk go, clinging to hands and legs and shoulders, until one of the elders finally pried them off, Kirk grinning as he waved goodbye._)

Absentmindedly, Spock wondered if those ice people would miss Kirk, should he never return. He'd promised to, and Kirk was unlikely to break promises, Spock found, regardless of how dangerous the promises were. He enjoyed adventures, the thrill of it giving him a new life, and looking at him in the hospital bed made him seem so much different than before. Small and shaken and broken. A sorry picture of their former captain.

There were greater concerns on Spock's mind, though, and he hadn't forgotten the hallucinatory reaction that Kirk had had while he was still in the throes of his fever. Any danger that Kirk posed to the 'fleet in his newly restored state could be deadly. Khan had been a powerful enemy - too powerful - and they could not risk awakening another like him, regardless of who he had been before. If Kirk was a monster, then they would have to destroy him before he destroyed them.

And yet, Spock had misgivings that Kirk was truly transformed by the blood. The effect that it had had on him physically was undeniable - his ribs had healed and most of the radiation had been purged from his system - but he'd seen, in that brief, chaotic glimpse into Kirk's mind, that he still understood who he had been. He had been locked in the warp core engine's chamber once more, dying of radiation poisoning and desperate to escape, to flee, to _live. _Though haunting, it was promising: Kirk remembered, then, what had happened, even if coherency was a far cry from his current state. He hadn't awoken since, but he'd been steadily healing.

They hadn't told the physicians half the story, though. Even Spock's captain's log was quickly, quietly disposed of. He knew that it was too risky, to let anyone that didn't already know _know _about what had happened to Kirk. Some would be relieved, others angry. Some would question the morality of it - how could they justify reviving only Kirk when so many others had died, so many _betters__? - _others would challenge their right to 'play God.' Some would even attempt to kill Kirk regardless of how he emerged from his coma, sound or unsound (although, Spock realized, that was a given, knowing Kirk's propensity for danger).

Keeping things quiet was essential. At least most of the _Enterprise _crew hadn't known what exactly had befallen their capture, nor did they understand that he was dead when Dr. McCoy saved him.

Looking at Kirk, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath, the heart rate monitor beeping quietly with each pulse, Spock couldn't help but wonder if they'd made the right choice.

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, _a small voice reminded him.

Spock stood, sore legs protesting the movement - he'd finally gotten the rest that he'd needed shortly days before, but it had been an exhausting journey and even his body craved more - as he walked over to Kirk's side. It had been almost nine days since they'd revived him. Spock wavered, wanting to meld minds with him, to _know _now that he was largely healed if he was still Kirk or not, but unable to interrupt the healing process. If he intruded now, then he might damage Kirk's mind if he was in the midst of some restful, meditative state.

He needed to wait, Spock knew, curling his fingers at his sides and turning, walking out of the room. He would wait, and then he would know, and he could act competently.

_The needs of the many may outweigh the needs of the one, _he conceded. _But the needs of the one cannot be ignored._

The doors shut with a mechanical _whoosh _behind him, closing him and Kirk off once more.

**. o .**

Five days later, Spock awoke from his meditative trance to his comm vibrating gently.

_Brrr-rr. Brrr-rr. Brrr-rr._

"Doctor," he greeted, hold the communicator to his mouth as he stared outside, acclimating himself. Bright blue sky, warm, puffy clouds. The perfect day, he thought, as he saw dozens of people milling on the sidewalks below, enjoying themselves.

"He's awake," was all Dr. McCoy said.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, all. Thanks so much for the support! I'm glad the first chapter was so well-received.

I think that the next chapter might be more Kirk-centric. Thoughts? I know that I initially planned to make this more Spock-centric than anything, but I might include Kirk in the next one (and later).

Either way, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

Review?


	3. Awakening

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Kirk's smile was as brilliant as Spock remembered it.

(_Illogical: it is impossible to measure the luminosity of a smile._)

As soon as he entered the room, he stood transfixed at the wall, unable to move.

(_Captain James Tiberius Kirk is alive._)

Kirk didn't seem to notice his surprise, his own attention focused on Dr. McCoy completely. There was something fond in his eyes that made Spock's chest tighten inexplicably.

(_James T. Kirk is alive._)

Every last ounce of oxygen evaporated when Jim finally looked at him.

(_Jim? Jim? Jim Kirk. James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_. Captain James Tiberius Kirk._)

Kirk's smile didn't decrease a watt (_Still illogical_) as he looked at Spock. "You saved my life," he said - again, highly illogical, because Spock hadn't saved his life, Spock had been there to watch as every last flicker of life drained from him, fingertips and heartbeat and _eyes, _bright blue dulled by pain and quieted by darkness. The active, engaging, extraordinary person behind them crushed out of existence, his last rattling breath catching in his throat as though even he couldn't quite believe it.

(_Jim smiled. Jim smiled when he died._)

Spock inclined his head. Somehow, his natural logic overrode unreasonable speechlessness as he said, "You saved the lives of the crew and - "

"_Spock_." (_Jim. Jim Kirk. This is Jim Kirk. We saved James Tiberius Kirk._)

Jim's smile could have light the entire room (_Illog - _)

"Thank you."

Spock's head bowed once more, staying there. "You are welcome," he said, meeting Kirk's gaze and not letting it go.

**. o .**

There were dozens of explanations.

"How many?"

"Four hundred and thirteen."

A quiet, composed wince. "Four hundred and thirteen," Kirk repeated quietly, the words slightly slower than normal. "That's a lot of names." He reached up with one hand and rubbed his forehead tenderly.

Spock cocked his head to one side. "Pardon?"

"Funerals," was all Kirk said.

Spock stayed quiet.

Victories always came at a price when warfare - when _terrorism - _was involved. Khan had intended to do as much damage as possible before seizing a new vessel upon which he would have resumed his massive genocide against inferior existence. Humans would be, naturally, the first to suffer his wrath, but few other species would be immune: Starfleet was not an interstellar organization without cause. Aliens were as prolific as Terran natives; those aboard the _Enterprise _had been no more equipped to deal with the superior threat Khan had presented than any of the other officers. On ground, the 'fleet was virtually defenseless against him when he made the sudden, erratic decision to destroy his own ship - risking his own life if a single calculation erred - and wiping out half a city.

Hundreds of thousands of lives, lost. _Thousands._

Spock couldn't say it yet, couldn't wrap his mind around it. Thankfully, he didn't need to; Kirk hadn't asked that question. "How's the warp core?" was his first question, followed shortly by an array ranging from the _Vengeance's _fate to the _Enterprise's _crew.

"How are they?" he'd asked, twice.

"They are well," Spock had replied, foolishly, the first time.

Kirk had stared at him until he had folded his hands quietly behind his back and reported, "They are well, Captain. They are . . . _happy _to be alive."

That was the only word for the emotion on the bridge the second the _Enterprise _rose triumphantly through the cloud bank, thrusters fully functional as the remaining power systems provided ample support. Shields were still gone and their main power source destroyed, but they had warp power, they were _afloat, _and no one on the bridge had died.

No one.

As soon as the words were out of the lieutenant's lips - _It's a miracle - _Spock's stomach had sunk. He'd unbuckled and had just enough time to come to the only logical conclusion - _Something is wrong _- before Mr. Scott hailed him.

He'd never run quite as fast as he had then.

"Spock," Kirk said, drawing him back to the present, one hand reaching out in an aborted gesture to clasp hands with him. Spock blinked at Kirk's hand, lying harmlessly against the clean sheets of the biobed. "Sorry," he added sheepishly, sensing Spock's bewilderment (_Bewilderment? Is that what this is?_).

Spock shook his head, minutely. He didn't know if Kirk even noticed, heavy-lidded as he was, so he asked, "Do you have any further inquiries?"

That elicited an even broader smile. "Hundreds," he said promptly. Then, sobering, he added, "Most of them can wait."

One of Spock's eyebrows arched quizzically at that; Kirk was not to put important information aside. "Captain?" he asked, belatedly realizing that Kirk's eyes were closed.

They opened to slits at the word, a tiny smile on his lips now. "Mr. Spock?" he echoed, almost playfully.

"You should rest," Spock said. Had he been fully human, his ears would have reddened in embarrassment at the painfully obvious statement. (_Painful? Nothing is painful about pointing out basic necessities around someone apt to ignore them._)

Kirk didn't seem to take offense, nodding slightly. "It's been a long day," he observed with an airy serenity. "Keep an eye on Chekov for me, will you? I thought he was gonna have a heart attack last time I saw him. I'm not sure he's much improved."

"Ensign Chekov was greatly relieved to hear about your awakening," Spock said, hands still tucked behind his back. "As were the rest of the command crew."

Kirk made a soft noise, a gentle, cut off _Mmmm. _"The whole command crew?" he asked.

"Relevant personnel," Spock corrected.

Kirk lifted a heavy hand, ticking the names off his fingers. "You. Bones. Scotty. Chekov. Uhura. Sulu." Pausing, he added, "You did tell Sulu, right?"

Spock inclined his head in a reluctant nod. "He was relevant," was all he said.

Instead of seeming off put at this information - they were under stern orders, all of them, to keep Kirk's revival under wraps until they knew how to better handle the situation - Kirk seemed _amused._ "He did a good job," he remarked. "Being intimidating, I mean. He was a good acting captain." Then, yawning, he added, "You'd make a good captain, too, Mr. Spock."

"I am not desirous of the position," Spock said calmly.

Kirk's eyebrows ticked up in amusement. "I wasn't aware Vulcans were _desirous _of anything outside of the constant pursuit of knowledge."

Ignoring the jibe - he'd spent sufficient time around Captain Kirk to recognize when he was being deliberately 'fooled with' - Spock replied coolly, "I do not have the necessary . . . emotional compatibility with the crew that you do to lead them."

"You could have your own crew," Kirk pointed out, unnecessarily.

Spock might have considered it once - early on, before he'd even officially begun training in Starfleet Academy years ago.

It might have been a lifetime ago, standing outside the doors of the Vulcan Science Academy's high council with his back to the doors and wondering where, exactly, he would go from there. The possibilities had been endless: Vulcans were reputed both for their intelligence and telepathic abilities among the Federation. He could have settled upon any of a hundred planets and formed a new, prosperous life for himself, if he had so desired. (_No one would even notice that I am not fully Vulcan. No one would care._) He could have become any number of things, but it had taken barely a second for him to shake himself and stride forward, knowing where he needed to be.

_Starfleet._

It was the most suitable role available to him, one where he was not judged by its superior officers for anything other than his aptitude, performance, and attitude. He'd proven himself an exceptional student and an even more resourceful First Officer. Being both the Science Officer and First Officer had prepared him well for the rigors that he'd faced aboard the _Enterprise, _but mostly it was the constant use of his abilities to their maximum efficiency that satisfied him. When that former ambition - _I could be anything, anyone, anywhere in the galaxies - _had crept upon him once more, he'd needed to look at his current projection of his own future carefully.

Was First Officer truly a satisfactory role for someone of his intellectual and physical ability? He did not doubt that he was capable of issuing orders and following directives. He could fill any of a hundred roles upon the ship in a pinch: bodyguard, engineer, physicist, technician, linguist, doctor, and even helmsman, when called upon. He was, truly, more than qualified, but he had known that captains were trained for years in the Academy - decades, even - before ascending to the role. Lieutenant Commander George Kirk had been a historical exception: his twelve minutes in the captain's chair had cost him dearly, but it had also made him a legacy among Starfleet, an emblem for every captain to aspire to.

_Do no harm. Protect your crew._

Though the words that had been spoken by dozens of officers over the years, they had taken on an entirely new meaning in the context of the _U.S.S. Kelvin's _demise: Captain Kirk's sacrifice had added the fundamental _at all costs _that each captain unspokenly assumed when assuming the command.

(_Spock spent hours pouring over the _Kelvin's _case, quietly mapping each of a thousand different possible scenarios._

_He wrote, designed, even programmed a virtual simulation to examine each component for any tiny flaw in the enemy's ship that he could have exploited, for any additional weapon in Kirk's own arsenal that he might have used. There had been nothing of either source, but he hadn't stopped until his vision blurred with exhaustion, hands refusing to cooperate as he stared at the dozens - _hundreds - _of alternate scenarios that he had laid out in front of him._

Kelvin _perished each time, cold, hard, cynical reality reasserting itself regardless of how brilliantly Spock countermanded it. [There was no alternative, Spock had realized, after watching his creation destroy itself again.]_

_It was a no-win scenario._

_When Admiral Barnett granted him permission to reprogram the _Kobayashi Maru_, Spock quietly changed the names of the ships - and the enemies, using Klingons instead of rogue Romulans - and submitted it to him three days later._

_No cadet ever beat the test. For four years, it was a resounding success as a crippling failure: the defeat was absolute, the inescapability complete. Cadets entered bright-eyed and determined and left - sobered. Changed. Taught a valuable, irreplaceable lesson. _

_A captain will go down with his ship to spare his crew._

_A captain will do anything for his crew._)

Looking down at the one man that had ever beaten his test (by installing a subroutine, nonetheless, _thereby changing the conditions __of the game_), Spock felt his hands loosen their tight grip around each other when he saw that he was asleep, snoring softly into the pillow.

It was just that Captain Kirk's son would be the first - and only - person to ever beat his model of the _Kobayashi Maru._

**. o .**

"He's asleep." Dr. McCoy sounded stunned as he re-entered the room, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Spock did not rise from his seat across the room, meditating quietly.

"He is," he agreed, watching Dr. McCoy scan him with another tricorder. "What are you looking for?" he asked, because the wall was already covered with vital information, blood pressure, heart rate, breathing, all manner of relevant information. Surely the doctor had noticed it.

Dr. McCoy made a quiet sound - almost a growl - as he said, "With Jim? Anything."

Two seconds later, he sighed and set the tricorder down. "I don't trust it," he admitted.

"It?" Spock repeated delicately as he stood.

Dr. McCoy shook his head, picking up another scanner and running it over Kirk's head. "Miracles like this don't happen," he said. "He's . . . he's _Jim._" He faltered, then, setting the scanner aside. "How the hell did this happen, Spock?" he asked, turning to look directly at him.

Spock frowned, an almost imperceptible creasing of his brow. "Forgive me, Doctor," he said slowly, "but it appears that Captain Kirk has been restored to full health. To what problem are you referring?"

"The lack of a problem," Dr. McCoy said, waving a hand almost violently. "People don't just _die _and come back with no repercussions."

"Repercussions can indicate either a positive or negative result," Spock pointed out. "However . . . perhaps it would be best to reserve judgment until we have had more time to analyze his behavior," he suggested.

Dr. McCoy's head drooped, briefly, and for a moment, Spock was certain that he saw resignation there.

"Doctor," he said, more gently than before. "He is alive."

"Yeah, he is," Dr. McCoy repeated gruffly, turning away from him and staring out the window.

Spock followed his gaze, observing the blue skies, the white clouds of early afternoon. It was likely that it would rain later, he judged, watching the clouds gathering. For now, there was calm. Perfect weather, for humans.

"It just doesn't seem possible," Dr. McCoy said at last, drawing his gaze back to their room, isolating them once more.

Spock refrained from pointing out that anything was possible, particularly in the case of Captain James T. Kirk.

"When do you project he will be fit for duty?" he asked, mostly to redirect him away from his brooding melancholy.

Dr. McCoy snapped to attention. "Fit for duty?" he repeated incredulously. "He just woke up from a _coma._"

"I am aware," Spock said, his voice losing some of its neutrality. _It has been taxing for him as well, _he reminded himself, quelling the urge to emphasize that he had not been unaware of Kirk's condition, either. All too aware of it.

Dr. McCoy dragged a hand through his hair. "Hell if I know," he admitted. "We need to do tests. Physical, mental, emotional, the whole nine yards. We need to make sure the Jim that we put into the cryo tube is the same one that we pulled out and injected superblood into."

"Curious observation, Doctor," Spock said, refraining again from pointing out the obvious: Kirk had been dead when they first put him into a cryo tube.

Dr. McCoy made another disgruntled noise and declined to comment.

**. o .**

"What happened to Pike?"

Spock had known that the question was coming. He had known because he knew James T. Kirk.

He averted his gaze, staring out the window where fresh storm clouds were gathering. Apt, he thought. "Admiral Pike has been taken to a secure location for burial preparation."

"Burial." The word was heavy on Kirk's tongue. (_Improbable._) "So he's dead."

Spock turned his head and met his gaze. "He is dead," he seconded.

Kirk let out a long, slow breath that made him wince faintly. "I take it Bones didn't give me any of the good stuff?" he asked with a weak smile, gesturing at his own torso as he rubbed the lower half of his ribs slowly. Spock could tell by the pain shadowing his eyes that he had not forgotten Pike: he had merely directed his energy outwards, towards a different outlet that would not cause him the same discomfort.

"Dr. McCoy performed admirably under considerable duress," Spock said, hands clasped behind his back. Unfortunate, really, that Dr. McCoy was not present to hear Spock defend him. (Then again, the last time agreement had occurred between the two of them, it had lead to Dr. McCoy stating that it made him _very uncomfortable._ Enigmas within enigmas.) "He saved your life. Secondary concerns were treated as such."

"Secondary concerns," Kirk repeated, flexing his hands before pushing himself slowly up in the bed, trembling arms supporting him halfway before he grunted and settled back against the bed, semi-raised.

"Our primary operative was to preserve your life," Spock pointed out.

Kirk gave him one of those _wry _smirks that he typically reserved for Dr. McCoy as he corrected, "I was already dead, Spock." Brow furrowing, he added, "I died." His eyes closed briefly as though sight pained him before he shook himself slightly and looked up. "You were there."

Spock said nothing.

"Why didn't you - " Kirk swallowed thickly, and for a moment, Spock was worlds apart from him once more, separated by that terrible distance. "Why didn't you open the door?"

(_Spock would have forced the lock if he could have. He was the ship's chief Science Officer and its First Officer: while the task might have caused him some delay, he could have had it open in no more than three point two seconds if necessary._

_Three point two seconds._

_He stared down at Kirk and for one moment, he dared._

_Then he crouched down beside him, helpless, defeated, and watched him die._)

"The decontamination process was not complete," was all Spock said. "We would have irradiated the entire compartment."

Kirk looked at him. Spock couldn't tell if there was condemnation or forgiveness in his eyes.

_Does it matter? _

He'd chosen the many over the few.

He'd made his choice. And he'd watched Kirk die.

_I could not have saved him, _he had to remind himself, as he met Kirk's gaze and held it . _I could not have revived him from that state. There was nothing I could have done for him, and I would have endangered hundreds of people in the attempt._

_There was nothing that I could do._

A conversation, once, that he wasn't meant to hear: a whisper of it, there and gone in Kirk's mind when Spock merged with him, determined to subdue him in the throes of his fever without harming him.

_Voices. Two voices, familiar voices, brief, fleeting:_

_"What would Spock do if he was here and I was there?"_

_A considerable pause, more silence in the darkness. _

_Then, unflinchingly: "He would have let you die." _

"Spock."

Kirk's voice was quiet but firm.

"You did good." Offering him a smile, he added, "You saved the ship. You saved me. That's what counts."

"On the contrary, Captain," Spock amended. "You saved the ship. Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura saved you. I merely . . . assisted in the attempt."

Kirk hummed.

"You know, reviving someone from the dead? That's cheating."

Spock opened his mouth to say that it was logical - _logic, Spock, I thought you liked that? - _before closing it. "A necessary breach in protocol," he settled on.

Kirk laughed, open and honest and _full_. "Yeah, that'd be a good title for my autobiography, wouldn't it?" he mused, once the brays had quieted to mere chuckles.

Spock shifted his weight, leaning against the foot of the bed as Kirk waved a hand.

"Pike always said I was gonna get my entire crew killed if I didn't stop breaking the rules," Kirk commented airily, his eyes distant. "I never thought . . ." Shaking his head, he asked, "Why me?"

Spock rested one hand against the bed, brow furrowed. "Captain?"

"Why did you save _me_?" Kirk repeated, looking at him with bright, disbelieving eyes.

(_He'd seen those eyes before._

_"I'm scared, Spock," Kirk admitted raggedly, his breath rattling in his chest as he stared outward, at the world just out of his reach. Spock tried to swallow and forgot how to breathe as a tear slipped down Kirk's cheek._ "_How do you choose not to _feel_?"_

_He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything other than shake his head helplessly - "I do not know. I am failing now" - as Kirk _looked _at him, and Spock knew it: he had failed._

_He'd failed._)

"There was no alternative."

Kirk rested his head back against the bed and closed his eyes, nodding once. Slowly, he nodded again, his muscles relaxing along the lines of his shoulders, eyelids sliding open as he said again, "Thank you. For everything."

Spock loosened his grip around the railing infinitesimally. "You are welcome, Captain."

"How's that tribble?" Kirk asked, his eyes calm and questioning, quietly authoritative.

Spock blinked once, surprised at the query. He hadn't been concerned about any tribbles during Kirk's repose, too focused on the work at hand. It took him a full three seconds before he realized that Kirk was referring to the one that Dr. McCoy had injected with Khan's blood.

Resettling his weight on the opposite foot and setting his shoulders, Spock replied, "Alive. Well."

Neurologically sound, he didn't add, because he could almost see Kirk readjusting his evaluation of the situation as he understand that unspoken statement.

"Good," was all Kirk said. Then: "Has the Admiralty requested to see me yet?"

Spock pushed himself off from the bed carefully, pulling a PADD out of the wall and quickly pulling up a screen with the most recent transmissions. "Thirty six times," he reported dutifully.

Kirk let out another bark of laughter. "That's not so bad. You must've put in a pretty good word for me."

Spock lifted an eyebrow slightly, replacing the PADD and saying nothing.

"Don't blame yourself, Spock," Kirk's voice called him back, gently, as he stared at the monitors rather than his face. "It wasn't your fault."

"It is as you said, Captain," Spock reminded, more subdued than sharp, as he listened to the heavy, wheezing breathing in his memory, deeply discomfited. "I did nothing to prevent your passing. I did not open the door." He turned to look at Kirk then, daring him to contradict him.

Kirk did.

"You couldn't have done anything to save me," he argued gruffly, tucking one arm under himself so he could lever his body up to a more comfortable position. Commanding. A more commanding position. "You did everything that you could, Spock. You held the conn, you saved the crew. They wouldn't . . . they wouldn't have been able to do it if they'd thought it was hopeless." Reaching out, an aborted movement to take Spock's hand, Kirk insisted, "You gave them _hope, _Spock. That's what they needed then. Some to lead them. A leader."

Spock hadn't felt like a leader.

He'd felt very helpless and inadequate as he'd sat in the captain's chair, unable to do anything more than stare out the fracturing window as their rapidly approaching incineration neared. Among them, he would die - they would all die - and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

_This is how Captain Kirk felt, _Spock had realized as he'd stared at the readings. Even the alarms were beginning to fail under the pressure, refusing to follow them into darkness, to accompany them to the very end. _This is what Captain George Kirk felt before he died._

He hadn't faced incineration: according to the reports, he'd used his last moments to drive the _U.S.S. Kelvin _into the _Narada's _heart in a final desperate kamikaze attack, hoping to disable it in some manner. It had been impossible to determine how much damage that impact had caused - substantial, Spock knew, even for a failing ship with only a single captain aboard - but it had been a worthy sacrifice, a necessary sacrifice. Someone had needed to stay behind to defend the crew fleeing the ship. Someone.

Spock hadn't had the option, though: they weren't stable enough to evacuate. They had no time, and their transporter ships were damaged, besides.

They could not have fought. They could not fled.

They had been trapped, and Spock had done nothing but brace for impact.

(_"The purpose of the test is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and remain control of one's self and one's crew.  
_

_"These are traits expected in every Starfleet captain."_)

With Kirk's bridge crew, Spock had stared in the face of his own death and been afraid, seconds before the lights came back on - _"Cadet Kirk somehow managed to install a subroutine, thereby changing the conditions of the test" - _and all was, for one moment, well.

But there were always consequences. Always.

"What are you thinking about?" Kirk asked, his voice softened with genuine curiosity.

Spock straightened his shoulders and it seemed that he looked directly into the eyes of Captain George Kirk as he said, "History." Then, looking at Captain Kirk's son, _the_ Captain James Tiberius Kirk, he added, "Your father. His actions were commendable."

"They commended him," Kirk agreed, but there was something in his expression that bespoke a grief deeper than mere loss.

_Something has been taken from him,_ Spock presumed, rightly, as he watched Kirk's facial expressions shift._ Something was stolen. Something was unearned._

Captain George Kirk's actions had been commendable. They had made him an icon for Starfleet, an ideal to strive for.

But they should not have been necessary.

And their bravery had come at a terrible cost.

Tucking his hands behind his back in his traditional relaxed pose, Spock couldn't help but think that Kirk and his father were more alike than even he had anticipated.

_Khan will never threaten us again, _Spock vowed silently._ Just as Nero was destroyed, Khan will never be seen from again._

History had stolen the first Captain Kirk, but Spock would not let it have the second.

**. o .**

"What was he like?"

"In my timeline?"

Spock inclined his head, hands folded behind his back, back straight.

Spock Prime drew in a slow breath, offering a rueful smile as he gathered his thoughts. "Captain Kirk was . . . a brilliant man," he said at last. "A good friend, and a noble captain. He did everything in the name of his crew. He loved us, and we loved him." Looking Spock in the eye, he added, "Jim Kirk was and always shall be my closest friend. Losing him was . . . ." His fingers flexed, wordless supplication. "Unrepeatable," he settled on. "A tragedy that cannot be replicated. He was an extraordinary person. It was terrible to lose him."

"How did he die?" Spock asked.

Spock Prime straightened in his seat. "That I cannot tell you," he said, very seriously.

"How old was he?"

"Spock."

"What were the circumstances surrounding his death?"

"You cannot fool me," Spock Prime said, sounding somewhat angry at the provocation. "Cease."

Spock frowned, stepping back slightly. "Did he die dishonorably?"

"He died as a captain."

One of Spock's eyebrows hitched up in surprise. "He died in action."

"He died as a captain," Spock Prime repeated sternly. "That is all I will tell you."

Spock advanced forward two steps. "Tell me," he ordered. "Why did he not ascend to the Admiralty?"

"Why did you not ascend to captaincy?" Spock Prime retorted, almost visibly bristling.

"It did not suit my needs," Spock replied, because he'd spent hours meditating - _Why did you not, Spock? Why did you not desire to aim higher, to be better, to do more? _- until he'd come to the sole logical conclusion._  
_

_I belong on the _Enterprise.

And Kirk was the _Enterprise's _captain.

Alone, he could have stood - he could have _thrived _- but he would have left Kirk vulnerable, disarmed.

Their compatible potential was almost unfathomable.

Alone, they would be enemies, competing forces by default.

Acting together was the only logical conclusion to maximize their fullest potential.

"Precisely," Spock Prime said aloud.

Spock's gaze aligned with his, silently questioning.

"You cannot ask me the origin of Kirk's death," Spock Prime said slowly, "because it is not for you to know. I have already compromised your universe irreversibly by my presence. I will not compromise it further."_  
_

Spock frowned and said nothing, turning so that his back was to the screen. "Both Kirks in this universe have had extraordinary deaths," he reported brusquely. "I would seek to prevent a third in the near future."

"You need not fear." Spock's head twitched towards the screen but he did not turn fully turn. "Kirk is competent. He will do well. He does not need you to shelter him."

Spock kept his gaze ahead, silent for a time. Spock Prime was patient, undemanding.

"Starfleet will require an official report," he murmured at last, turning to face Spock Prime. One eyebrow arched quizzically. "What would you do?"

"I would file the report," Spock Prime answered at once. "You cannot hide the circumstances of Jim's miraculous healing without drawing suspicion. Though Dr. McCoy was forced to put him into an induced coma to save his life, he has been awoken and appears well."

"You would neglect to mention the cryogenics," Spock mused. "As well as the unusual circumstances surrounding Kirk's resurrection?"

"A revival," Spock Prime corrected, leaning against the arm of his chair more obviously on screen. "Kirk died, but he was not unreachable. You would not have spoken with a person if he had been truly dead when Dr. McCoy injected him with the serum."

Spock's head twitched in a nod, acknowledging the unpleasant thought that Kirk could have been brain dead among other things when they revived him.

"I am not your future, Spock," Spock Prime reminded patiently. "I was not . . . christened by the same experiences that you were. We are different people. The fate that my Kirk endured is not the same that yours will, though I hope that they will be similar. The Kirk in my world was a great man."

Spock looked at him, nodding once in assent. "Forgive me."

Spock Prime's smile was somewhat amused. "It would be difficult not to." Then, more seriously, he added, "You must be careful, Spock. This is not knowledge to be shared lightly. I have already broken my promises not to tell you anything, and I fear that it may have affected your timeline more dramatically than you foresee. Nevertheless," he held up a hand, fingers splayed, "good luck."

Spock mirrored the salute, staring at the blank screen long after the transmission had been terminated.

**. o .**

_"I sure hope you know what you're doing. Captain."_

_"So do I."_

_Truth was, Kirk hadn't known anything. He hadn't known how he and his crew were supposed to override the _Narada_ and take down Nero before he destroyed their home planet and, successively, each planet in the Federation. He hadn't known how he was even going to catch up with the _Narada_, traveling at warp speed to an illegally confiscated vessel that was likely capable of outrunning their ship._

It's an old mining vessel, it's huge, it's bulky. Its engines can't be that big.

_It wasn't a comforting thought, knowing what would happen to them once they arrived._

I have to do this_, he'd thought, taking one moment to compose himself. Nero had destroyed Vulcan, he'd killed Spock's mother, he'd killed _billions_ of people in an instant, and he wanted to kill even more. He wanted to destroy them. He had Captain Pike hostage, doubtless subjecting him to torture, and Kirk -_

_Kirk wasn't going to let him get away. No matter how terrifying their odds were._

This son of a bitch killed my father,_ he thought._

_Straightening his shoulders and leaning forward, he'd pressed the shipwide broadcast communicator and relayed his new orders to the crew._

_". . . Either we're going down. Or they are. Kirk out."_

_Yet it wasn't Nero that they were after. Nero was dead, destroyed when his dismantled ship had been pulled into a black hole, crushed into nonexistence. They could not have sustained the transition with their life support and air pressure systems compromised. They would die, every one of them, and they had, Nero's final refusal to accept Kirk's assistance leaving him with no choice but to order a full launch of missiles to ensure that Nero did not come after them again._

_No, it was Khan that he was after, Khan that he had to reach, Khan that he had to enlist to help him get aboard Admiral Marcus' ship and take control before it regained power. If it regained power, then they were all dead, because Marcus' phasers were locked onto their signal and the _Enterprise _would be helpless to defend itself against the attack. They would all die, blown to pieces by one of Starfleet's most respected officers, and Kirk couldn't let that happen. Thus, he needed Khan, the one crew member that he had that might be able to get him inside Marcus' ship before it regained power._

_Spock was already intercepting him as soon as he reached the elevator doors, though, stepping inside the chute and objecting to his plan before he'd even said a word. Kirk half-wanted to punch him and tell him that it wasn't fair, that he had to do something and if Spock couldn't devise a more practical solution, then he needed to support Kirk. Kirk had needed his validation, his approval more than he had wanted to say, and it rubbed him the wrong way completely that his own first officer was so adamantly opposed to everything he did lately. _

_So he shot back Spock's responses - "I haven't even said anything yet" - and refused to be deterred by his presence, walking briskly towards the medical bay. As long as he reached Khan and boarded the _Vengeance _and contacted Starfleet to let them know what had happened, then everything would be okay. Khan could be properly incarcerated, his crew sent to a secure location, and the worlds safe once more from imminent peril._

_But even as he ran the scenario through his mind, he had known that it was false, and his stomach twisted when Spock shot his 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' metaphor in its face. _

_"The truth is," he interrupted, facing Spock and incapable of lying as he finished, "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I only know what I _can _do."_

_As he was lying on the floor of the _Vengeance, _curling inward against the _pain, _he knew that he had failed, both as a gambler and a captain. __  
_

_He hadn't struck a bargain with Khan at all, because he'd had no bargaining chip with which to negotiate. As he listened to Khan and Spock speak, he'd seen the error of his ways, assuming that Khan was good, that Khan was, truly, on their side, that Khan would allow them to take the ship back and submit quietly to lifelong imprisonment. _

_Khan. The same creature - Kirk didn't even deign to call him human anymore - that had crush Admiral Marcus' skull in without flinching._

_". . . relying on blind luck to justify yourself!" Admiral Pike snarled in his memory, so upset and enraged that he could barely contain himself as he spoke._

I'm sorry, Pike, _he'd thought, because there was nothing Spock could do, there was nothing any of them could do and - _

_He was alive and aboard the _Enterprise _once more, fate had given him one last opportunity to succeed, to prove himself as captain, and he followed Scotty and Chekov through engineering, listened and obeyed to the best of his ability and, when Scotty scanned the computer and realized that his beautiful plan to save them all contained one unanticipated flaw - "The warp core's misaligned!" - Kirk had known what he had needed to do._

_"I only know what I _can _do."_

_He'd punched Scotty in the face, buckled him in and, after one last glimpse down the red-lit hallway, hit the opening sequence for the warp core reactor plant, stepping inside as a wall of scalding heat poured over him._

_"Your father was captain of the U.S.S. Kelvin for twelve minutes._

_"He saved eight hundred lives._

_"I dare you to do better."_

Kirk awoke with a gasp, breath slow and heavy as his hands curled tightly in the sheets. He twisted around, trying to sit up more. He had to - the warp core -

"Easy, Cap," Uhura teased gently, seated in a chair off to his left with a PADD cradled in her hands, darkness permeating the room from without even while gentle lighting kept it brighter within. "It's just me."

Kirk spent a moment processing that, amazed that _Uhura _would turn up at his bedside without any apparent external prompting. He'd always known that she was fond of him - his incurable charm was part of that, but there was something more, something between them that echoed his relationship with Spock, wild and crazy and unpredictable though it was - but it was gratifying to see her concerned, for a change._  
_

So she did care about him. Interesting.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, because he'd already lost two weeks of time that the rest of the world hadn't. (_I shouldn't be here at all, _he had to remind himself, dazed and amazed at his own existence after so long in the dark.)

"A while," Uhura answered unhelpfully, setting her PADD on the floor and crossing her legs more comfortably. "How are you feeling?"

Kirk smiled a little, lifting a hand weakly as he swallowed. "No worse than before. How's Bones?"

"Asleep." Without looking at her watch, Uhura added quietly, "It's been a long day for him."

"For all of us," Kirk agreed, because he could see the tense lines around her eyes, those worry lines always reserved for Spock and - him, he realized. Those were for him. He listened to the quiet, steady pulsing of his own heart rate on the monitor, closing his eyes briefly to soak it in. "How's your boyfriend?" he asked conversationally, because Spock hadn't seemed - fully himself the last time he'd seen him. Then again, Kirk had barely been awake enough himself to process anything more than a few phrases, asking questions not because he wanted the answers yet but because Spock needed him to be a captain and he wasn't about to disappoint him.

Uhura was frowning when he opened his eyes to look at her, her shoulders slightly slouched. "He's doing better," she allowed. "He still won't talk to me about it."

"About what?" Kirk asked, the words thicker on his tongue than he would like - he needed to be ready to face the Admiralty, because God knew that they would want answers for his unexplained absence - but still intelligible.

Uhura rolled her eyes, standing up and approaching, stopping a foot away with her shoulders straight and her back rigid. "You died, Jim," she said, and he could hear the echo of pain in her voice, a sadness unexpressed, a grief felt - intensely felt - and suppressed once it seemed possible - unlikely, but _possible _- to succeed. "That's - "

"Hey," Kirk cut her off, gently, because he didn't want to hear the exact details of how excruciating his death had been from the _outside _as well as within. It was too close, suddenly, suffocatingly close, and before he knew it, he was extending his arms and she was stepping into them, holding him tightly.

"I'm right here," he breathed, resting his forehead against her shoulder as she clung to him. "I'm right here."

He let her soak in his presence, reveling in hers - _you're alive, I'm alive, we're _alive - until at last she pulled away, quietly, leaving him exhausted but relieved at once. He hadn't noticed the tears that had slipped past her hold, taking a pointed interest in the warm white sheets around himself as she reached up to wipe them away, composed and unwavering a moment later. _It's no wonder Spock likes you, _he mused, because his own grasp on his emotions was tentative at best, prone to giving way under any form of duress. How she managed to pull herself together so easily, he would never know.

Still, he knew that the switch wasn't perfect: Uhura's eyes were still brighter than normal, her posture too relaxed to fit Starfleet regulation completely. They couldn't escape or ignore what had happened, but they could move past it.

Slowly. Carefully.

Nothing too rushed.

Rushed would be dangerous, this time around. Rushed would leave loopholes that their prisoners could exploit. (And he hadn't even asked Spock what had become of Khan and his crew but he hadn't needed to because he knew Spock, he trusted Spock, and Spock wouldn't let them have even the remotest possibility of awakening.) They needed to tread carefully or else they would ignite further pandemonium amid the already chaotic fleet.

_How much damage do we need to undo? _Kirk wondered.

He didn't know what image Admiral Marcus had projected before disembarking from the 'fleet to destroy them, eliminating all evidence of his previous failures. He didn't know what the 'fleet thought of the _Enterprise's _unusual proximity to the _Vengeance, _a ship that had crash-landed on Earth in an undeniably deliberate attack on Starfleet. He didn't know half of what he needed to, but his head ached and the sheets were warm, and for once, he was happier to be alive and well as Kirk rather than the captain.

Uhura must have sensed it, too, because one moment she was sitting on the edge of his bed telling him about their plans for the seventy two cryo tubes in their custody and the next, gently rising from it. It took Kirk longer than it should have to piece it all together - his own eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, and he could feel sleep calling to him, easing forward even as a hand gently carded through his hair, once, an affirmative gesture.

He tilted his head towards the hand, wordlessly expressing his thanks. She ran her fingers through his hair one last time before departing, the doors _whooshing _shut behind her.

And he slipped into a quiet, dreamless, healing sleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hello! As promised, here is the next installment of _Revival._

Coming up: we'll be taking a look at Starfleet's reaction to the _Vengeance _attacks. And more about Admiral Pike and Kirk's recovery.

Thank you so much for your support! It really does mean a lot, and I'm glad that you all have enjoyed this story so much so far. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well.

~truffles

P.S. Due to the overwhelming response to this chapter, I'm going to postpone responding to reviews until the next chapter. Which may very well be tonight or tomorrow night. Stay tuned! Thank you again.


	4. Adjustments

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Spock flanked Kirk as they walked across the scarred remains of the easternmost Academy grounds, a warm breeze fluttering across the familiar lawn as heavy white clouds promised an afternoon shower above them. Officers and cadets alike flashed them quick salutes as they passed. Kirk favored his left leg as he walked, carefully concealing the sensitivity by pausing to address their onlookers deliberately. He mirrored their salutes, murmuring, "At ease," several dozen times before they made it to the undamaged portion of the Academy grounds. Spock did not choose to comment on the formal address, knowing that Kirk's acknowledgment was sufficient, but he did pause at the foot of the stairs to speak with Kirk directly.

"Captain, I would not advise confronting the council so soon," he cautioned, knowing that it was a futile venture before he began.

Predictably, Kirk ignored him, scaling the once pristine white steps then coated in a layer of fine gray ash.

Aware though he was of Kirk's sub-par condition, Spock couldn't help but appreciate the flawless black and gold lines of his uniform. They shone in the early morning light, granting him an air of regality: a Captain in his element. Feeling distantly reassured, Spock followed him, his own blue Science Officer's uniform striking against the white stone, illuminating his presence more effectively than any formal announcement.

It was a bold move, donning their colors again even knowing the volatile nature of their situation.

Their claims to their present state of authority were tenuous at best. Spock had been reassigned to the _U.S.S. Bradbury _shortly after their meeting with Admiral Pike, and his authority as Commander was unquestioned. Nevertheless, he had been reassigned to the _Enterprise _by Kirk and Admiral Marcus, both of whom were operating outside of regulations. Thus, the likelihood that Spock's reinstatement as First Officer aboard the _Enterprise _was valid was marginal.

Other the other hand, Kirk had been placed under Admiral Pike's command as his First Officer mere hours before Admiral Pike was killed in action. According to Starfleet regulation, in an emergency, Kirk should have assumed captaincy of Captain Pike's vessel as First Officer until a competent replacement could have been located. With charges of reckless negligence and concealment acting against Kirk, however, regulation had dictated that he should have remained grounded until a superior officer could have filled his role, regardless of the necessity or urgency of the case.

As an undisciplined officer, Kirk had been seen as a threat to the Academy: a danger to any ship that he could have come into contact with unless he was able to contain his own impulsiveness.

Rather than persuading his superiors that he was worthy of the burden that Captain Pike had unexpectedly left him, Kirk had instead approached Admiral Marcus and demanded the right to pursue and engage Khan on Kronos, violating nearly every code of conduct possible in the confinement and treatment of war criminals in the process.

_I request your permission to go after him._

Spock's suspicions had piqued when Admiral Marcus hadn't rebuked him for his audacity. He had merely given Kirk an assessing look before pulling him aside and giving him the case.

They hadn't seen the betrayal coming, even though nowhere in Starfleet regulation did it state that superior officers were permitted to assign inferior officers dangerous off-the-record missions. The long range torpedoes had hardly qualified as safe: neither Kirk nor Spock nor anyone aboard their ship had known what they had contained before their launch.

As it so happened, they had been seventy two time bombs.

Conscious of the considerable evidence stacked against them, Spock was skeptical about the Academy's genteel attitude towards the demoted-cadet-acting-captain. Although Kirk could maintain his rank as Captain if the board ruled in his favor, he could also lose more than the captaincy if the arguments did not sway in their favor. Spock couldn't ignore his own involvement, either; intrinsically, his cause was tied with the success of Captain Kirk's.

Spock had already voiced his concerns back at the hospital, knowing that Kirk wasn't ready for the rigors of not only being in command but _maintaining _that command against a board of Admirals prepared to demote him at the first sign of weakness when he could barely walk. "Captain, you should not do this," he had insisted, watching Kirk struggle to a more comfortable seated position.

"Shouldn't do what, Spock?" Kirk had asked, leaning back on his elbows and somehow looking stronger and wearier than he had in days. It had only been two days since he had awoken from an induced coma, yet he had been nothing but restless since, oscillating between reckless and complacent in equal parts. Spock had attended to the basic needs of the _Enterprise _post-docking while Kirk had been holed up anxiously in his hospital room, scanning his PADD for more information while Spock had pretended not to notice the subject of his inquiry.

_John Harrison. A man who did not even exist twelve months ago._

Still, he'd had greater concerns than addressing the restlessness still plaguing Kirk: namely, his competency. "Speaking with the Admiralty when you are already compromised would be - "

"Spock." A quiet, gentle rebuke. "I can't hide forever. Every day I'm away _increases _their suspicion. I have to do this."

Spock had opened his mouth to protest, but Kirk had already been levering himself gingerly to his feet, and abruptly Spock had known that there was nothing that he could do to stop him.

He had stepped aside silently when Dr. McCoy had entered the room seconds later, growling ominously that Kirk wasn't ready to gallivant around town. He'd suffered enough injuries to keep a healthy man down for a week and a dead man for a month, but Kirk had shaken his head and listened to the rebukes, the warnings, the cautions, until at last Dr. McCoy had conceded.

Spock had known why. Though Kirk had not said it, he would have escaped and confronted the Admiralty alone if they had refused to aid him.

"Don't piss them off," had been the first words out of Dr. McCoy's mouth once he had come to the same conclusion. Unhooking machinery as he had spoken, Dr. McCoy had scanned Kirk with a tricorder one last time, his jaw tensing at the readings before he had allowed Kirk to pull on a black undershirt, his breath drawing in sharply as he had done so. Dr. McCoy had frozen, ready to tear the shirt off and force him back to rest when Kirk had shaken his head once, grimly. He had barely spoken during the harangue and submitted easily to Dr. McCoy's assistance, letting him tug the gold tunic over his head.

When he had stood from the bed, Spock had to admit that he had looked surprisingly well, more like the cadet that he had first met four years ago than the ragged Captain that had stood on the bridge of the _Enterprise _mere weeks before.

Kirk had a Captain's bearing and a cadet's freshness. The former would determine his fate while the latter would project his resilience. He would not be shaken nor taken down easily, as Spock well knew. Both were essential to his testimony.

Still, Spock had more concerns than he had given voice to as he watched Kirk walk, steady but slow. His breath was a little raspier than normal, and Spock worried that the exertion was taking a greater toll than Kirk wished to convey.

If Kirk collapsed in front of the council, then regulation permitted them to provide him with sufficient medical treatment to restore him back to good health.

At all costs, Spock could not allow that to happen.

Stepping up beside Kirk, he asked in a barely audible murmur, "How long?"

"How long until _what_?" Kirk asked, his voice clear, his chest thick with a suppressed wheeze. Spock frowned; he'd heard that before.

(_"Cuff him."_

_Spock kept the phaser raised and aimed at Khan, knowing that he could turn on them at a moment's notice. Still, he had seen Kirk's face - pale, haggard, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth - and the breathlessness to his voice was disconcerting._

_As soon as they reached the ship, the exertion, the pain, the anger - whatever it had been evaporated, leaving only the unflappable captain in its place, his voice heavy but clear._)

Spock waited until a pair of cadets had walked past before asking, "How long can you sustain this?"

Kirk stayed silent, walking down the corridor with uncharacteristic solemnity. At last, he drew in a shallow breath and replied, "I don't know, Mr. Spock, but let's try to keep this brief, shall we?" He gave him the hint of his usual winning smile - _winning? Illogical _- before turning down the corridor and directing his attention elsewhere.

**. o .**

"Captain Kirk!"

That was the only warning that Spock had before Dr. Marcus rushed forward and hugged Kirk, so tightly that Spock was tempted to intervene to ensure that his barely healed ribs didn't sustain any more damage. Kirk's breath left him with a grunt as he braced his feet and held his ground, holding her back equally tightly. "Dr. Marcus," he greeted, and if his breath was noticeably breathier than normal, at least Dr. Marcus did not seem overly concerned about its origin.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it, they told me you were dead, and - " She stepped back, looking properly abashed at the boldness of her presumption but unapologetically pleased to see him. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, his breath still shallower than normal - _something is wrong _- but his voice clearer than before. "It's good to see you." He offered her a faint, charming smile that she gladly reciprocated, her expression sobering after a moment.

"I wish I could say the same on the behalf of the Admiralty, but they're furious," she admitted, leading them down the hallway in a way that left no polite openings to refuse. Kirk walked easily at her side, keeping pace with obvious effort. If Kirk was struggling to hide his own state of discomfort, then he must be far more incapacitated than Spock had originally foreseen; still, they had no choice now. If they garnered Dr. Marcus' suspicion, then it might foil their illusion of infallibility before the council. "Harrison destroyed a third of the 'fleet when he crashed his ship into the harbor. They're incredibly shorthanded. Not to mention there have been - rumors. About your whereabouts." She eyed Kirk then in a way that Spock knew referred to more than simply his physical presence.

He'd heard some of the rumors himself before others had surfaced to counteract them: Kirk was presumed dead, Kirk was missing, Kirk was alive and currently held in an undisclosed location, Kirk had gone rogue and separated from Starfleet, Kirk had orchestrated the Klingon attack, Kirk had murdered Admiral Marcus, Kirk had staged the attack on the Federation and subsequent attack on the highest officers, Kirk had became a war criminal, a fugitive, a madman.

Looking at Kirk, it struck Spock as disconcerting that he could understand the origin of the more violent rumors. Kirk's behavior had been erratic at best aboard the _Enterprise, _commandeering one moment and captive the next.

Still, Kirk's impulsiveness was fundamentally aligned with his remarkable leadership abilities. He took risks that other captains were unwilling to take to gain more considerable rewards. While the incident on Nibiru contradicted their orders not to be seen (their primary directive, nonetheless; the secondary directive being _do not_ _interfere_), Kirk had acted wisely in the face of insurmountable odds. He had utilized his most efficient resources to neutralize an active volcano (one which would have doubtless destroyed the entire civilization and thus rendered both their primary and secondary directives obsolete) and preserve an entire species. It had almost cost him the lives of his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer (and his own, given the endangerment that Dr. McCoy and he had endured providing a suitable distraction for the natives), but the pay off had been tremendous. Hundreds, possibly thousands of lives were spared because of his 'recklessness.'

Kirk might leap into battle with an enthusiasm rarely exhibited by most Starfleet officers, but he was not foolish. He would not put them into a dangerous situation that they could not handle, however marginal their control on the situation was.

Watching Kirk and Dr. Marcus speak, flanking Kirk two steps behind and one to the left, Spock noticed that his jaw was tense and his eyes were bright, battle ready, even if the rest of him appeared tired. Dr. Marcus didn't seem to notice - _humans will only see what they wish to see_ - and Spock was hopeful that the council would prove equally negligent.

As soon as they reached the tall doors separating the audience chamber from the outer halls, Kirk paused, Spock halting at his side while Dr. Marcus proceeded, the doors closing behind her.

"She's asking permission for an audience," Kirk explained, arms at his side and shoulders straight, gaze ahead.

Spock inclined his head and said nothing as an officer appeared at the door, the doors sliding open once more with a mechanical lurch.

"At ease," Kirk said quietly, his gentleness masking his weakness as the lieutenant dropped his salute.

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock." He acknowledged each of them with a tiny nod, stepping back to admit them. "The council will see you now."

"Thank you," was all Kirk said, striding forward with slow, thoughtful steps into their midst.

Spock followed, one step behind, and kept his expression carefully blank as he soaked in the hundreds of cadets seated in the wings, silencing as they entered. The full council - minus those that had been lost in recent attacks - was seated at the table stretching almost from one end of the auditorium to the next. Admiral Barnett sat in the center, and for a moment, Spock stood in the past, watching the Admiral summon James T. Kirk for questioning.

Kirk had looked very alone and very vulnerable down there, singled out and presented for execution. (_Judgment, _Spock corrected himself. _Justice._)

He hadn't stood alone for long, however, gathering his few resources and requesting permission to face his accuser directly.

Now, Kirk stepped before the same podium that he had years before, quiet and venerable before the men that held his fate in their hands.

Spock flanked him, one step back and two steps to the left, hands held neatly behind his back. Dr. Marcus stood at the adjacent podium, tall and straight-backed, unflinching.

"Captain Kirk," Admiral Barnett began, "you stand before this council accused of many things."

_Many of which are untrue, _Spock could almost hear Kirk say in response.

Kirk stayed silent, letting Barnett list off the myriad of accusations set against him, including but not limited to: dozens of protocol breaches and incomplete reports, undocumented and unregulated pursuit of a known war criminal into hostile territory, engagement with Klingon forces in hostile territory, murder of Klingon forces in hostile territory, fraternization with the war criminal, confiscation of the flagship _Enterprise _in the detention of a war criminal, refusal to comply with direct orders from Admiral Marcus to release a war criminal into the _Vengeance's _superior care, destruction of the _Enterprise, _destruction of the _Vengeance, _and reckless endangerment of himself and his crew.

Standing silent and unshakable before it all, Kirk made no direct response to any of the accusations, waiting for Admiral Barnett to finish reading through them as the council and Academy looked on.

At last, Barnett asked, "Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"Yes," Kirk said at once, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the podium. "I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly?"

"You're looking at them," was all Admiral Barnett said, gesturing with one hand at the remainder of the council. "The reports that we have received have not been encouraging on your behalf, Mr. Kirk."

Kirk's lips twitched; it might have been a smile. "I can't imagine they would be."

"Do you deny them?" Barnett asked, surprised by Kirk's complacence.

"Adamantly," Kirk assured. "However, I would like to know what resources were submitted by the flagship _Enterprise _before I proceed."

"Coincidentally, Commander Spock filed most of the official reports," Barnett said, his piercing gaze settling briefly on Spock. "You claim that the _Enterprise _had received direct orders to kill the war criminal John Harrison before Kirk overruled the order and proceeded to take Harrison hostage instead."

"That is correct," Spock said. "Furthermore, I submit that Admiral Marcus conspired against the Federation by attempting to elicit war with the Klingons through direct provocation and attempted to eliminate the _Enterprise_and her crew in combat."

Uneasy murmurs rose like waves throughout the room. Letting it build for a moment, Barnett waited before clapping his gavel twice against a block of wood. Silence reigned, but the unsettling chill remained. Kirk did not flag under the scrutiny directed at him, but Spock could feel his tension, his entire body strung tightly, unwilling to let a single hair fall out of place.

"Those are strong accusations, Mr. Spock," Barnett acknowledged slowly.

Spock held his gaze, refusing to be unsettled as he replied, "Vulcans cannot lie, Admiral."

"Indeed." Barnett steepled his fingers. "Captain Kirk, we would hear your testimony of events."

Kirk nodded once and straightened his shoulders, quietly resigned to his task. "Admiral Pike appointed me to First Officer of the _Enterprise _shortly before being killed in action," he began. "At which point, I assumed captaincy."

Spock stood at Kirk's side and offered no commentary or suggestions as Kirk spoke, letting him explain everything that had occurred between the attacks on the London Archives and the successful capture of the war criminal John Harrison. He did not stutter, eloquently explaining their peril in a way that did not ingratiate their cause or avoid extraneous details. He was honest, blunt, and to the point: he did not evade the truth and he did not permit any misconceptions. He spoke and half a thousand people listened.

Half a thousand remaining cadets heard him out and were relieved.

"Admiral Marcus was corrupt," Kirk concluded, after less than five minutes of oratory. "He acted immorally in the face of evil, choosing to stoop to its level rather than seeking a more charitable alternative." Resting his hands on the podium, Kirk did not look away from the Admiralty as he said, "He made a mistake freeing Harrison from his imprisonment, but he made a greater one attempting to correct it. We regret the loss that Starfleet has endured, both on a personal and professional level, but we did not, in any manner, orchestrate it. As witnesses, I present the entirety of the remaining crew aboard the _Enterprise_. They will gladly testify that my evidence is sound and that Marcus' attacks were unprovoked. The ship's log itself should prove conclusive."

He eased back from the podium, letting the silence reign.

Barnett was quiet for a long moment, the remaining Admirals holding a respectful silence as they deliberated. "As it so happens," he said at last, "we have retrieved the ship's log and listened to the recordings."

Kirk's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, a small, weary smile gracing his lips. "And how did you interpret your findings?" he asked, cool and unruffled.

"Definitive," Barnett said, leaning back in his seat. "Captain Kirk, we have attempted to summon you repeatedly due to unresolved matters for several weeks now."

Kirk inclined his head. "I apologize for the delay," he allowed. "I was . . . preoccupied."

"So Mr. Spock has said," Barnett replied, nodding once in his direction. Spock straightened his tunic and said nothing.

"Starfleet regulation dictates that captains submit reports to Starfleet headquarters for evaluation at the conclusion of each mission," Barnett continued, lifting a PADD and clicking through it briefly. "While Mr. Spock has provided more than sufficient testimony regarding your actions, we felt it was necessary to confirm it with you personally, given the rumors surrounding your whereabouts."

"Alive and well, sir," Kirk responded, quietly evasive. Spock knew that to the multitudes that it would mean nothing, but to him, it held deeper meaning; _alive_ and _well _were two extraordinary states of being for someone who had died recently of radiation poisoning. "I'll submit a formal captain's report separately."

"Thank you." Barnett set the PADD aside, looking down at him and saying, "Confirming your health and innocence were our primary objectives in this meeting. However, there is another matter to address: your captaincy."

Kirk's fingers twitched, retracting against his palms. A flinch. "My captaincy," he echoed quietly, folding his arms on the podium and waiting.

"Regulation states your captaincy should be revoked," Barnett told him bluntly.

Kirk's eyes closed, a moment longer than necessary. "I understand, sir."

Spock almost spoke up on Kirk's behalf then. Almost demanded that the Admiralty see that Kirk's actions, while reckless and inadvisable at times, had never been done to harm others. He wanted to show them that Kirk was a more competent captain than many of his elders simply because he was willing to take the risks that would save more lives. Had he not pursued Khan, then warfare would likely have erupted between the Federation and Klingons when Admiral Marcus assumed command of the mission instead. Kirk's actions might not have been enough to save everyone (or, indeed, the millions that had already suffered), but they had saved many more, preventing open warfare from erupting.

Barnett spoke before Spock could intervene.

"In light of recent events," he said, simply, addressing Kirk and the masses alike, "we have decided to let you retain command of the _Enterprise._"

The world might have stopped spinning when Kirk closed his eyes and basked in that singular, thunderous joy. "Thank you, sir."

Barnett nodded once, accepting the gratitude. "She will need extensive repairs before she's ready for flight," he warned.

Kirk's eyes opened, and Spock knew that had he been in private, there would have been tears. "I'm aware, sir," was all he said. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Captain," Barnett replied, turning briefly to address Spock. "And you as well, Commander. We are an Academy united. We will remain united regardless of the scope or severity of the threats that press against us. We are confident that you both are competent in your roles and will provide further good for the fleet." Lifting his hand in a salute mirrored by hundreds in the stands and, quietly, Kirk and Spock and Dr. Marcus on the floor, he said, "At ease."

They rose as one and filed out.

Kirk did not move for several long moments, his arms resting against the podium as he stared at the empty chairs above and in front of him, unable to believe his good fortune. His eyes had closed again, his shoulders slouched in momentary weakness.

"Captain," Spock said at last, quietly, when Kirk made no move to exit. Kirk's eyes opened, his posture straightening partially before he let out a sharp, heavy breath and shook his head.

"Just give me a moment," he rasped, barely audible.

Spock inclined his head and said nothing, turning to rebuff the curious eyes of several lingering cadets.

"Are you quite all right?" Dr. Marcus was asking Kirk, resting one hand against his elbow as he nodded once, twice, reassuringly.

"Overwhelmed," he admitted, his voice surprisingly steady even if Spock knew that it was an act. "I'm okay."

"I could accompany you - "

"I will accompany the captain," Spock cut in, nonthreatening but incontrovertible. Dr. Marcus startled a little before looking at him, some of the tense lines around her eyes easing.

"Of course," she agreed, squeezing Kirk's arm once before retreating.

Spock advanced, quiet and gentle. "Do you require assistance?" he asked, barely above a murmur.

"Bones can - " Kirk swallowed, wincing as he straightened fully. "Bones can fix me up. Get me to Bones."

Spock nodded and quietly, unobtrusively obeyed, one arm curled around his back.

**. o .**

"Where the hell have you two been?" Dr. McCoy demanded the second the doors to his quarters opened ("42-38-60," Kirk had rasped, leaning more on Spock than he cared to admit as Spock typed the opening sequence). "And why the hell are you on your feet?" he demanded, stepping forward and retrieving Kirk from underneath Spock's hold. "God dammit, Jim, you shouldn't have - "

"Captain," Kirk interrupted, all but sagging in Dr. McCoy's hold as he insisted, "I'm Captain of the _Enterprise_, Bones."

"Damn right you are," Dr. McCoy growled, easing him onto the tiny couch in the middle of the living area and crouching in front of him before saying, "Now hold still." He picked up a tricorder - Spock couldn't even bring himself to be remotely surprised that Dr. McCoy not only had one in his private living quarters but on _hand _- and scanned Kirk's face and torso with it, frowning at the readings. "All right," he said at last, setting the tricorder aside and reaching for his medical kit (again, Spock was utterly nonplussed to see that Dr. McCoy had it stashed underneath the coffee table). "All right, Jim. Congratulations." Reaching up and squeezing his shoulder once, he added, "You should get some sleep. I can't properly yell at you if you actually fall at my feet from exhaustion."

Kirk nodded once, brow pinched, and without any further prompting shifted on the couch until he was lying horizontally, breath already evening to slow, shallow breaths. "Can you - " he made an eloquent gesture at his neck, Dr. McCoy's frown deepening as he stood, returning with a hypo seconds later. Kirk's expression didn't falter when he injected it, only easing a little as his breath deepened properly into sleep.

Dr. McCoy stood, glancing at Spock warily.

"So," Dr. McCoy said in the silence already settling over heavily into the room, "Captain."

The singularly unimpressed way that he said it made it seem more a threat than a title, but Spock had become accustomed to Dr. McCoy's particular brand of cynicism. He did not leap immediately to Kirk's defense - _given the uncertainty of the situation, it is impressive that Kirk was not completely removed from the _Enterprise - but he shifted his weight, silently bracing for an argument.

"What did you give him?" he asked, calm, unobtrusive.

Dr. McCoy scowled. "Morphine," he said.

Spock's expression remained unchanged with an effort. "Captain Kirk is rarely inclined to request painkillers."

"Yeah, well, _Jim _is asleep on my couch. If you'd like to take it up with him, be my guest."

Spock declined, staring at the sleeping figure that he'd come to know by many identities but rarely simply the nickname _Jim._

"Comas aren't magical healing trances," Dr. McCoy went on, seemingly oblivious to Spock's presence as he moved throughout the small apartment, tidying and checking items periodically before settling in the kitchen, a pot of coffee brewing. "They're exhausting. The body's still functioning at almost full capacity under even more stress than usual while all normal brain activity gets put on the back burner." Shaking his head, he adjusted the settings on the coffee and pulled the mug carefully into his hands, cradling it between them. "He's more burned out than he wants to let on."

Spock tilted his head to one side, silently curious. "How is Khan's blood affecting him?" he asked, resting one hand on the smooth marble of the counter, running a hand over it slowly, appreciatively.

Dr. McCoy waved a single hand airily. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Spock's gaze trailed briefly from the chief medical officer in front of him to Kirk in the living room, deeply asleep. "He seems more cooperative," Spock observed mildly.

"He broke three ribs," Dr. McCoy said flatly. "I'd be pretty cooperative with that kind of damage, too."

Spock frowned. "His ribs healed."

"They did," Dr. McCoy agreed, sighing and taking a long drag from his coffee before setting the mug on the table, "but they didn't heal properly."

Spock's frown deepened. "They set improperly." Already, he was considering their options, thinking that Kirk wouldn't be able to function normally with three broken ribs regardless of how resilient he was, and three improperly healed ones would be debilitating.

"They healed improperly," Dr. McCoy corrected, side-eyeing Spock. "You remember those side effects that we were looking for? This is it," he explained, waving one hand dismissively in Kirk's direction. "Khan's blood brought him back to life, but he was already a mess internally. Some pretty extensive contusions, multiple fractures, a concussion. The regenerative quality of Khan's blood repaired some of the tissue damage, but most of its attention was diverted towards the irradiated blood as the primary concern. As a result, everything gets mended, but not all to the same degree. His ribs aren't broken anymore, but they sure as _hell _aren't comfortable, either. They need more time to set, or they'll still be . . . unstable for a while."

Spock glanced over his shoulder at Kirk, asking without looking at Dr. McCoy, "How much time?"

"Weeks, preferably. Days at a minimum. I can't guarantee that he won't do _something _to screw them up even more in the meantime, but I can ease the process." His mouth was hard, his jawline tense when Spock turned back to look at him. He looked remarkably haggard standing there in the middle of his kitchen, dressed in more casual attire for a change, sharply contrasting Spock's regulation blue. "He's not invincible," Dr. McCoy insisted, taking another long sip from his coffee. "He can't keep this up. He'll kill himself; he's one good shove away from a pneumothorax if any of those ribs dislodge. If he collapses in the streets, God knows what sort of care he'll end up in. I have no idea what Khan's blood did to half of his systems. They could poison him with a basic painkiller if they're not careful."

There was an intense air of protectiveness around the doctor that contrasted the biting quality to his words; Spock knew at once that he didn't mean them maliciously. He simply had no alternative way to express them.

"I will ensure that the captain obtains proper bed rest," Spock vowed, "so long as he is available for his duties. He has been sighted by the Academy and needs to be seen again, regularly, if we are to maintain the illusion that he is still fully human."

"He is fully human," Dr. McCoy inserted, a hint of steel in his voice that brooked no argument.

"We shall see, Doctor," Spock conceded, turning his back on him and Kirk and exiting the apartment without another word.

**. o .**

"I believe in James T. Kirk," Admiral Pike said slowly from a time long gone. Spock sat back in his chair and watched, the darkness outside heavy in the room within, cocooning him in Pike's final words to Starfleet. (Spock would admit that the file had been questionably accessed: he had not been given explicit permission to enter Starfleet's more secretive databases and obtain the file. Nevertheless, he could not say that he had done so needlessly; his justification emboldened him to listen on rather than quietly closing the file and returning to his own solitary existence.)

"Kirk represents Starfleet's highest aspirations: a boldness and willingness to traverse the galaxies in search of extraordinary places and strange new worlds. Though unseasoned aboard starships aside from his brief forays aboard the _Enterprise, _Kirk has proven himself a valuable asset. He can fill multiple roles and obey orders from superiors as well as maintain a level head in a crisis. Kirk's file is laden with accusations - his recklessness and disobedience chief among them - but he acts tactically. He acts _morally. _We strive to emulate Kirk by imposing regulations on our Starfleet officers that enable them to act responsibly in a dangerous situation without realizing how ill-prepared they are for unexpected altercations.

"Where other officers would flee, Kirk plunges ahead and tackles new challenges. He thinks on his feet and is good at diplomacy. He's _smart. _Kirk is a man that thinks, breathes, and lives for his crew. He puts their safety above his own and does not endanger them unjustly. His competency and commitment inspires the same characteristics in those around him, and ultimately, it is Kirk's command that makes him the right man to lead our next generation of Starfleet officers and cadets into space.

"Gentlemen, I implore you to look at Kirk and reconsider your decision to send him back to the Academy for retraining. Allow me to take him under my wing and serve on my ship for a few months. Aboard the _Enterprise,_he will be my First Officer. In this role, I believe he will continue to grow as a person and develop a deeper respect for Starfleet and the mission that we hope to uphold. Kirk is too valuable to lose. He is the one that we have been looking for, the one that can take us beyond our current borders, that can lead us into deep space, that can boldly go where no one has ever gone before.

"Kirk may not be ready for heroism yet.

"But I believe in Jim Kirk."

Spock did not move from his chair for a long time, listening to the final words - _but I believe in Jim Kirk _- echoing through his mind. When at last he stood and rested his hands on the windowsills, he tilted his gaze to watch the starry sky.

He lost track of how long he stood there, wondering just how far he was willing to go alongside James T. Kirk, how much he would risk in the joyous, riotous pursuit of new life.

It didn't take long before he reached the only logical conclusion: _anywhere._

**. o .**

"Mr. Scott!" Kirk called, smile in place and hand aloft as he approached Scotty in the yard designated to dissecting the _Vengeance's _salvageable parts, not missing the way that Scotty's entire body froze. "I guess the rumors are true. Find anything valuable?"

Scotty didn't answer him - not altogether unexpected - but he stepped forward and hugged Kirk hard, his forehead resting briefly against his shoulder. "Don't," he insisted, in a ragged, broken voice that attested to a pain deeper than words were capable of grasping as he finished, "_ever _do that to me again."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Scotty," Kirk assured quietly, sobered, as he recalled knocking Scotty out seconds before pain-fear-pain-pain-pain-fear-no-no-no-no-please-S pock-Spock-_Spock_.

Scotty nodded once, sniffing loudly before nodding again, more gruffly, and clasping his hands together as he pulled away.

Keenser eyed Kirk doubtfully from Scotty's side, apparently entranced by his mere presence; after a moment he waddled forward and Kirk crouched down to offer him a brief hug as well, letting him ease back and meeting Scotty's gaze once more as he stood.

"Right," Scotty chirped. "Well. It's good to see you back around, laddie, but truthfully I wasn't expecting you for another week or three."

"I got let off for good behavior," Kirk assured in the slow, easy way that he'd learned kept the pain in his chest to a minimum. "How's she coming along?" he added, addressing the burned out remains of the _Vengeance_surrounding them.

Scotty sighed, shaking his head and reaching up a hand to rub his head. "Slowly," he admitted. "It's hard work. I've never seen this engineering before, and that's just the salvageable parts. We still haven't located the warp core reactor or anything that might indicate _how _they overcame our ship mid-warp without decreasing our speed at all. We shouldn't have been vulnerable, yet we were, so - " He shrugged, gesturing eloquently at the plethora of parts around him. "Here I am."

"You're doing good work," Kirk assured, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder briefly. "You did good with her. The _Enterprise _wouldn't have stood a chance without you."

Scotty opened his mouth to deny that before closing it and shaking his head. "Nothing without her captain," he insisted. "It's good to see you up and about again. I was beginning to worry about you."

"You know Bones," Kirk said. "He loves to worry. Worrying's his favorite."

"Aye, and it's my favorite, too, when you're involved," Scotty said, waving a wrench at him pointedly. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, you know that?"

"I think I already have," Kirk pointed out, reaching down and carefully picking up one of the loose crowbars, tossing it once in the air and catching it. "Let me know if you need a second hand," he added, gesturing at the dismantled remains of the ship. "I'd be more than happy to help."

"You'd - " Scotty gaped at him in wordless disbelief for a moment before shaking his head. "No, no, no, Cap, I am _not _gonna have that sort of responsibility breathing down my neck, I know you. You're gonna get me fired. Or worse. I'm not gonna mess with that pointy eared bastard, _no soiree._"

Kirk's lips twitched into a smile in spite of himself. "C'mon, Scotty. You used to be such a rebel. And Spock's not so bad."

"He's bad enough," Scotty said, setting the wrench aside so he could pry the crowbar out of Kirk's hands. "The answer is _no. _There isn't much to look at, anyway; it's all rubble."

Kirk opened his mouth to protest, shutting it when Scotty cut in with a firm, "_No,_" and gently cuffed him on the head. "These are my play things, not yours. I don't want you messing around in them until you're back in full working order."

"I am," Kirk insisted, feeling a faint hint of irritation creeping in at the thought that even _Scotty _didn't think that he was fit for duty, _basic _duties.

Bones' hold on him was already suffocating enough without the enigmatic and inexorable force that was _Spock _constantly breathing down his neck. He wanted time to settle into his routines again, to learn his _ship _again, to learn what life and living and chaos were like again. He couldn't, though, because his body was still weaker than his will and his shadows ever persistent in his outward adventures. Part of him suspected that Spock's presence was more than simply an outward guard against threats; it was also insurance against the threat that Kirk himself might present.

"When you're ready to come aboard the _Enterprise _again," Scotty said slowly, arms folded definitively, "then you can come check out my engineering. Until then, I don't want you fussing around with this stuff. It's volatile enough as it is for one person." He tapped the crowbar against a metal rod, adding, "I won't let anything slip past you, Captain, but this is one project that I need to take on alone."

_Until I'm capable, _Kirk completed for him, nodding once before offering him a quiet smile. _Until I'm ready._

"Thank you, Mr. Scott," he replied, holding out a hand for him to clasp. "I look forward to seeing you on deck again."

"As do I," Scotty assured, pumping his hand up and down once energetically before letting it go. "As do I, Captain. It's good to have you back on board, metaphorically speaking."

"Good to be back," was all Kirk said, letting him walk off, already scanning more of the remnants of the _Vengeance._

It seemed strange and impossible that two weeks and three days prior, this ship had been airborne, plunging downward in a lethal kamikaze attack intended to wipe out Starfleet. It had crumbled over time, becoming nothing more than a thousand disjointed parts amid the black, smoldering wreckage. If there was anything worth salvaging among the remains to be found, then Scotty would find it; until then, Kirk had to trust that the Admiralty was aware of the _Vengeance's _capabilities and had the ability to replicate its warp core innovations.

_We can't be overtaken again, _he thought, running a hand over a jutting piece of smooth black steel. _We can't be outrun again._

As Kirk turned away and let Scotty and his work fade in the background, he couldn't stop the sudden, irrepressible fear that arose in him.

As long as Khan lived, he knew, they would be vulnerable.

_I'm their captain. I have to protect them._

They would need to incorporate Scotty's findings into the _Enterprise's _security systems, but it would only work if they stayed one step ahead of Khan and his like, keeping them from ever returning.

_I can't let him come back. I have to send him somewhere he'll never see the light of day again._

Mulling over the problem, Kirk left the yard, muscles tense and thoughts uneasy once more.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hello, everyone! As promised, I will be responding to reviews from the previous chapter shortly.

This chapter didn't end on a light note, but the next will begin on a lighter note of the Uhura/Kirk variety, so there's a bit of incentive for you to keep reading. I hope you enjoyed this next installment; your support so far has been absolutely unbelievable. Thank you.

Much love,

~truffles


	5. Acknowledgements

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Uhura was, in a word, _electric._

Kirk couldn't help but admire her shameless control of the dimly lit room. She didn't need to announce her arrival: heads turned and crowds parted before her without preamble, curious and dazed eyes following her with equal attention. He also didn't need to call out to her to know that she saw him sitting at the corner of the bar, his gray jacket and black pants concealing his rank, gold command tunic tucked underneath. To the slaphappy drunks occupying the bar, he was just one more sulking cadet looking to drown his sorrows in alcohol; to her, he was something more, an unexpected blip on the radar, an unforeseen complication. Whether she wished to acknowledge him or not was irrelevant. She knew that he was there; the rest was gravity.

Sipping from his Scotch, he redirected his attention to the space directly in front of him as he closed his eyes and waited. If shutting out the world around him eased the throbbing in his head, then at least it might appease Bones to know that he wasn't completely neglecting his health. He already knew that Bones would give him hell for it if he knew that he was drinking; he didn't care. There was something immensely therapeutic about an act so ordinary. He'd spent three days facing a foe contrived three hundred years ago, locked in a battle between Starfleet's highest command and its most prestigious, dangerous criminal. Drinking was calming. Drinking was normal.

Besides, even Bones couldn't argue that alcohol would affect him any more adversely than usual when they still had no idea what the effects of Khan's blood were. Kirk speculated that it hadn't changed him: blood was blood. Khan had been human, even if his intellect was indubitably superior.

In short: he'd been made of stronger stuff than Kirk but it was still, fundamentally, the same stuff.

At best, Kirk thought that it might have increased his metabolism and, subsequently, immunity.

Bones theorized that the full scale reboot of his system had left him more vulnerable than ever to every known illness introduced to mankind in the past three hundred years, including several hundred varieties of the common cold. He wanted to reinoculate him with every mild form of sickness that he could think of to protect Kirk.

Understandably, Kirk had declined.

He'd escaped by explaining that he wasn't sick yet (_three days of constant exposure to new illnesses, Bones, what are the odds that I'd still be perfectly healthy if my immune system was shot?_) and flooding his system might do more harm than good in the long run. By holding back and waiting to see what Kirk's immune system did with predetermined illnesses and the environment's natural contagions, he'd struck a bargain with him.

Somehow, he doubted alcohol was considered a natural environmental contagion, but he wasn't about to get into a philosophical debate about it with Bones. Doubtless the less Bones knew about Kirk's personal life, the better off his sanity would be.

All it came down to was Kirk's desire to speak with Uhura in an environment that he knew they would both be comfortable in. Contrary to Bones' primary belief, Kirk wasn't an invalid, and being treated as one, for however long, chafed at him. He needed to get out and be Jim Kirk again. Even Bones couldn't deny that it was important for him to reconnect with himself in light of recent events.

Kirk had spent barely seventy two hours conscious of the threat that Khan had presented before he had died, but so much had occurred in such a brief span of time that Kirk felt as if he'd spent entire lifetimes battling Khan. His strength had been depleted from the onset, as Bones' tricorder readings had helpfully pointed out as they sat aboard a shuttlecraft intended to take them to their doom, but it had been the slow build of shock, pain, exhaustion, and adrenaline that had taken the heaviest toll. It gave him a headache just to think about all the aches and pains that he'd carried with him - _still _carried with him. Once more, Bones appeared right: whatever Khan's blood had done to him, it hadn't solved all of his problems, and the injuries felt raw and real, even more so than they had any right to be. The surfaces had healed, but the damages underneath were substantial and far from fixed, not unlike Kirk himself.

Draining his first Scotch and nodding when the bartender asked if he wanted a refill, Kirk spared a glance at Uhura. She was engaged at one of the other ends of the bar, doubtless ordering drinks for herself as she smiled at something the bartender suggested with an elaborate gesture of her hand. Kirk smiled a little as he nodded once to acknowledge the Scotch that the bartender set in front of him, passing his card to him and lifting the drink to sip from it as a memory leaped unbidden to his mind.

(_Resplendent and enigmatic, Uhura had been seated at a bar stool, unaware of him as she set her menu down and smiled at a bartender from several lifetimes ago, thanking him for his suggestion. Kirk had moved in then, timing it carefully so that none of the other hopefuls in the area would intercede. Young and cocky and suffused with bravado, he'd been confident that he could win her over. Even then, he'd known that she wouldn't have simply smiled at him or shyly responded to his flirtation. She had dictated the terms of their meeting as much as he had from the start, presenting an intoxicating air of mystery that made her all the more alluring. Doubtless, it had been part of her thrill, not knowing it she would have graced him with her presence, her company, her attention, and that was what had made Kirk all the more determined to speak with her, to have her see him as something. Anything._

_He hadn't realized how effortlessly that she could shut him down and out, preventing him from getting so much as a word in edgewise. She'd heard him out, but on her own terms, for her own amusement. He'd been nothing more than a dumb country hick to her, but he'd still intrigued her enough from that onset that she'd listened to him ramble off about names and needs and laws of nature._

_Looking at him with a mildly intrigued grin, she'd said in a slow, easy drawl, "Wow. I'm impressed. For a moment there I thought you were just some dumb country hick who wanted to have sex with farm animals."_

_"Well." And he'd smiled then, because: "Not _only_."_

_Checkmate_.

_She'd laughed._)

Small victories. Beautiful, precious things.

"Hey," she said now, easing onto the bar stool beside him, a Budweiser classic in one hand, a curious expression morphing her usual stoicism into openness. "Want one?" she asked, almost playfully, as she tipped the drink in his direction.

Kirk held up a hand on the bar, wordlessly declining. "As much as I'd like to overindulge a little," he drawled, "I think I'll stick with this."

She'd eyed his shot, taking a long drag from her own drink. "Suit yourself."

Kirk inclined his head. He already felt pleasantly buzzed, hovering on the precipice of something blurrier and less inhibited. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been embarrassed by how much of a lightweight he was, but tonight, it didn't seem to matter as much. At least he could blame part of it on an empty stomach: his appetite hadn't been the same since he'd realized that Khan wasn't actually dead.

Just thinking about it made his stomach sink with dread. Khan was still alive: unconscious and entombed, but alive, powerful as a bargaining chip and unstoppable if awoken.

"Kirk?" She waited until he looked at her fully, eyes focused intently on her dilated pupils. "Are you okay?"

Uhura's voice was surprisingly gentle, her hand no less so as she rested it on his shoulder, grounding him. He nodded once, not shrugging the hand on his shoulder off.

"I'm fine," he assured gruffly, keeping his gaze focused on the solid wood in front of him. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders as he breathed and reminded himself that Khan and his crew were frozen. Nothing short of a highly trained team of medical practitioners could possibly revive him. Getting past Starfleet security to obtain the cryo tube would be its own challenge. Compiling sufficient medical resources to enable the restoration of Khan to power would require additional work, and the motivation needed to revive him at all would be in short supply given the confidentiality of Khan's true identity. As far as the majority of Starfleet knew, former Lieutenant Commander John Harrison had gone rogue and mutinied against the 'fleet by murdering scores of its members, including half a dozen of its finest officers. Nothing more had been disseminated.

Kirk's fingers clenched around the edges of his shot glass as he was hit once again with the crippling reality of their deaths, the thousands that had perished as a result of Marcus' folly and Khan's cruelty.

"- irk?"

"Hm?"

"I'm taking you back to McCoy," Uhura said seriously, already moving to get up. "You shouldn't be - "

"I'm not going to die," Kirk asserted, very quietly.

Uhura froze, every muscle in her body briefly going rigid before she sighed and relaxed minutely back into her seat. "If you're sure."

Kirk inclined his head, taking another tiny sip from his drink. He wrinkled his nose at the lukewarm taste. "Of course. But I didn't come here to chat about my health." Turning in his seat so he could face her more fully, he asked, "What are we looking at in the Neutral Zone?"

Both of Uhura's eyebrows lifted slightly, her gaze sweeping the bar once briefly. "Here?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Kirk asked blandly.

His half-Vulcan shadow hadn't been inclined to give him much ore privacy lately. While the additional security and support was appreciated, he needed to speak with his crew privately. _Alone._

Uhura especially, given her intuitive awareness of the larger crises at hand.

She hesitated, giving him a quick once over before deeming what she saw acceptable and standing. Kirk left his drink without a word, gathering his jacket more tightly around his shoulders as he followed her out of the bar. He was grateful that Uhura didn't mention the slight limp to his step. Bones hadn't been able to do much for the old injuries, exempting painkillers, and Kirk wasn't particularly motivated to appear weak in front of others. If the Admiralty wanted him to be a beacon of strength, then he wasn't about to discourage the image by parading his own exhaustion.

The Academy grounds were still fairly active in spite of the late hour as they exited the bar together. They forged a path forward undetected, drawing no unwanted attention from the surrounding populace. They were the murmuring crowds of latecomers intent on joining in on the revelries before the night was too weary. None of them spared him a second glance. He wasn't a Starfleet captain to them; he was one of them, nothing more, nothing less, a pedestrian, a passerby. Street clothes did wonder for personal identity, cloaking him more effectively than any formal disguise. Still, he followed briskly at Uhura's heels, taking no chances. They were ghosts, unseen and unnoticed, but still invariably detected by those present. If they lingered too long, then they would be noticed, something that Kirk didn't know he had the strength to manage.

Kirk knew before they were halfway there that they were headed to Uhura's apartment. Still, it surprised him when she entered the code into the panel at the door to the complex, leading him inside, the esteemed Captain James T. Kirk setting foot in the west wing for the first time since before he'd been suspended academically for cheating on the _Kobayashi Maru._

The brightly lit corridor ignited the aching in Kirk's skull anew - and maybe Bones had been right about laying off on the alcohol until they were certain about how it would affect him, but it was more than a matter of health; it was a matter of principle - but he ignored it as he kept pace with Uhura. When they reached her dormitory at the end of the hall, Uhura wordlessly keyed it open and stepped inside.

At first glance, it looked exactly the way that Kirk had remembered it. Upon closer inspection, it became painfully obvious that Uhura's side of the room was the same while the other half had remained profoundly untouched.

Kirk had to close his eyes, feeling the overwhelming, crushing weight of grief stagger him briefly. So many cadets had been lost that day that Nero had attacked their ships upon arrival at Vulcan. They'd been systematically destroyed, torn apart by the Romulan fire until nothing had remained but the shattered, empty bits of lifeless hulls and space debris. So many lives had been taken so quickly, so effortlessly, so _needlessly, _all because they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gaila had been on one of those ships. The _U.S.S. Farragut. _Bright-eyed and infused with the thrill of being on her first real space flight as a Starfleet cadet, she'd had only seconds to savor the sensation before being plunged into the heart of a battle that she couldn't have hoped to win, helpless and stranded. It would have been over almost as soon as it had begun: moments of fleeting terror at the reality that she had to face before everything had been destroyed in a flash of photon light.

Kirk opened his eyes and stared at the empty bed, a hundred unspoken thoughts passing through his mind.

At last, he settled on a quiet, somber, "I'm sorry."

Uhura ran a hand above the foot of the neatly made bed, shaking her head once. Not in negation, he knew; just sadness. Disbelief. Regret. "I am, too. I was assigned to the_Farragut,_" she added, almost conversationally, too quickly to pull it off. "I talked to Spock before leaving the dock. He reassigned me to the _Enterprise._"

"It's not your fault," Kirk said, quiet but firm. "You couldn't have known."

"I intercepted the transmission," Uhura pointed out, unwilling to be deflected so easily. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently crinkling the sheets. Kirk remained close to the doorway, not wanting to intrude.

"You couldn't have known," he insisted, folding his arms across his chest gingerly. "Don't do this to yourself, Uhura."

Kirk waited, giving her a moment to regroup before he inched closer to the bed and sat beside her carefully. Even though he knew it was unprofessional for a captain to mingle so freely with a lieutenant in such an intimate setting off duty, he couldn't bring himself to care as he let her lean against him, absorbing and bolstering each other's strength.

After a countless period of time, Uhura said slowly, "You wanted to know about the Neutral Zone."

Kirk nodded once, acknowledging the desire but not forcing the issue. He didn't want to push her, giving her time to process her own grief in the wake of Khan's attacks. He'd needed more time to cope with Pike's death than he'd been permitted. It hadn't been their fault; they couldn't have helped it. Still, all he'd wanted in those moments had been to learn to live and breathe again in a world that no longer contained Admiral Pike, and instead, he'd needed to be a Starfleet captain. He'd needed to avenge, not mourn, and so he'd leaped into the fray again, blindly hoping that he could keep a lid on his emotions long enough to get through the trials.

Being captain was taxing, almost beyond belief and for many, beyond endurance. He couldn't completely exempt himself from that category, will it though he might, not this time. Pike's death had been too close to home - it _had _been home, his front doorstep, Starfleet's most secure holdings, a place where he had always and should always have been safe - but he hadn't had any choice in the matter but to cope. To learn. To move on.

Even so, it was impossible to deny that others had faced unimaginable hardships as well, and he couldn't deny their validity by forcing them to move past their grief even if he had to move past his own. Just thinking about the breadth of Spock Prime's grief when Vulcan had been destroyed took his breath away; he couldn't imagine the pain that his own Spock had gone through, watching that catastrophe unfold.

Nevertheless, Uhura didn't dwell in her grief, pulling away from it and hardening her resolve as she spoke. Kirk didn't stop her.

"Tensions have escalated considerably between Starfleet representatives and Klingon leaders," she admitted, disappearing in her clinical evaluation of the situation. "The Klingons are notoriously difficult to appease under the best circumstances and impossible to placate if they think that their resolve was threatened. They're threatening to declare open war on the Federation unless we can prove that our involvement was separate from Admiral Marcus' attacks on the _Enterprise_."

"So it's war," Kirk mused, oddly unfazed by his own words. It seemed inevitable, somehow, the only logical follow up to the disasters that had plagued them ever since he had entered Starfleet Academy, four years prior: the Klingon empire would declare war on the Federation and subsequently destroy them. They didn't have the ships or the weaponry to combat them, let alone the technological capabilities to overtake them. They would be overwhelmed and crushed out of existence, although Kirk knew that the Klingon cost would be steep. They wouldn't take the Federation without a fight, and Starfleet could put together a hell of a team when they were sufficiently motivated.

Still. The prospect unsettled him. If the Klingons declared war on them when their resources were already severely diminished and their leadership unstable, then they wouldn't stand a chance.

"They want answers the Admiralty isn't prepared to give without compromising Starfleet as a whole."

"They want to know about Khan," Kirk interpreted, tensing his jaw when Uhura pursed her lips and nodded once.

He stood, unable to stay seated any longer as he paced slowly from one end of the room to the other, then back again, making the slow circuit again and again as he thought. If the Klingons managed to capture Khan, then they would endanger everything; not simply their universe but _every _universe, a dozen universes, unknown and unexplored, untouched and untarnished by unplanned temporal anomalies. They would ruin that, of course, stepping in and boldly asserting their presence until Khan and his crew alone, his _species _remained.

It wasn't a cheerful thought.

"They won't tell the Klingons," Uhura said, back straight and shoulders set, watching him pace. "It's too dangerous. We'd lose any chance of defeating them. Our ships aren't built to withstand their vessels."

"The Defiant class was," Kirk corrected. Warships designed to protect the more standard exploratory vessels that Starfleet regularly employed as its emblems, Defiant class vessels were intended to protect the 'fleet's goods, its most valuable ships. They could provide sway in confrontations, armored and weaponized as they were, and ultimately, they'd been meant to help keep peace throughout the Federation by demonstrating a judicious amount of strength meant to deter conflict. They hadn't been strong enough to combat the evils that had faced them, however, and had fallen prey to attack by various factions, but the _Vengeance _was a different class of warship, a new emblem for Starfleet to rally under.

The Dreadnought class was small and limited to the full scale, fully operational _Vengeance _as its sole representative, but Kirk had already seen what it could do in battle and was suitably impressed. She was bigger, faster, and stronger than any ship before her, technologically superior in every way. Virtually impossible to beat in a conventional firefight, any enemy ship would be hard-pressed to overtake her. Brute force would scarcely be an option against her formidable weaponry and external shielding; only tactical maneuvering and the careful application of serious ammunition could put her out of commission.

Unless, of course, one detonated seventy two torpedoes _inside _her transporter bay.

Then, and only then, had lethal damage been sustained.

"If we'd been able to capture the ship, then we'd have much more conclusive data," he mused aloud, pacing over to the window and resting his palms against the sill. "As it is, we're relying on whatever Scotty finds in the wreckage to steer us in the right direction." Tilting his head to look at her, he noted, "Some of the most accurate data that we've collected so far has come from calculating the damage that the _Vengeance _inflicted on our ship and the damages it sustained before being piloted into Starfleet headquarters." Turning to look back at the night sky, he asked softly, "How much damage was done to HQ?"

He heard the sheets rustling as Uhura sat up straight, steeling herself for the answer. "Alcatraz was destroyed," she began, and he appreciated the calm assumption of detachment in her voice. Sometimes it was easier to ignore open wounds rather than treat them, but it was one that he couldn't avoid and neither could she, regardless of how much they might want to. He had endured the somber ceremonies following Nero's demise and their subsequent return to Earth without wavering. Even as the day had begun to fade and the funereal processions had not relented, he had stayed and listened and silently promised to remember as many names and faces of the fallen that he could. He had owed them that much, as one of the survivors of the attacks. His father had gone down in history for saving his crew, but these had been untried cadets swept up into the throes of an attack that they could not hope to survive. They had been remembered, commemorated for their valor and loyalty.

Kirk had known that he hadn't been the only one that would have gladly traded valor and loyalty for the 3,192 lives that had been lost. The universe hadn't been open to negotiations, however, and he had had no choice but to bow his head in silent refusal to be beaten and listen.

Listening to Uhura speak was like that. He distantly registered the immensity of the attacks, painfully aware that even his formidable intellect could not hope to remember them all. Not that his intelligence had done much good against Khan. He'd played shamelessly into his hand, so desperate for a solution that he had been willing to listen, to hear what he'd needed to hear - "_You are a criminal" - _and seen what he'd needed to see - "_I watched you murder innocent men and women._"

So many more Starfleet officers and cadets had been lost because of one man's conspiracy (_he built those ships to protect the 'fleet, we would never have survived an open war with the Klingons with our current stock, he did it to protect us, he needed someone like Khan to control it, to _create _it, or else they would have been destroyed, they wouldn't have been enough, they would have been vulnerable_) and another's savagery (_Khan had wanted to destroy them, he'd wanted to bring them to their knees and, regardless of whether they had stood defiant to the end or surrendered, he had wanted to kill them, to crush them, to set them in their place underneath him_).

It made him sick to think about the lengths that Admiral Marcus had gone to so he could better arm and equip the 'fleet. His creations would have been accepted over time - necessity would have created acceptance and even admiration, if nothing else - and the need for more powerful weaponry would have opened the gateway for an entire new class of starships, warships, _Dreadnoughts._

The _Vengeance _had only been the first, Marcus' pride and joy. It had never been intended to be the last.

Both Khan and Marcus had wanted to bring the world to its knees and start their own wars; the damages that their actions had inflicted on the Federation were profound.

"How many?" was both a humble and unanswerable query. They knew how many had been injured, killed, or unaccounted for, but they could not know how many families and friends grieved because of those lost to the attacks. It had seemed as if the whole world had come to its knees already, others regarding them with blank, disbelieving horror from afar. From that point, they had begun to rebuild, reaffirming alliances and soothing tensions until all had resumed a parody of normalcy.

All could never be the same, however, because whereas Kirk had died and come back to life, 106,413 had not.

Thousands more had been injured, but those caught in the _Vengeance's _destructive path hadn't stood a chance. The only mercy was that it had been almost instantaneous.

(_Unlike the slow, charring, excruciating burn of irradiation, lungs and limbs and heart too heavy, too painful to move until they stopped moving altogether, frozen in death._)

Kirk's fingers clenched harder around the windowsill. Uhura said nothing, letting him absorb his grief. He was still a captain, and composure was an inherent part of the job; he had to be able to comprehend the reality that death was an equally inherent part of leading a ship into danger.

His breath was heavy, but he forced himself not to move as he embraced the impact.

He startled but only a little when her arms came around his waist, her hands encircling him. He didn't need to say anything, then, as she rested her cheek against the back of his shoulder. It was comforting, being so close to another person again, warmth and solidarity and _presence._ He relaxed a little and felt the full weight of his tension slam into him, the fear, the breathless unease that Khan was still alive, still at large, still a threat. _I have to neutralize him. I have to stop him, I have to cage him, I have to _destroy _him -_

Feeling her breathe against his back, he felt - calmer, somehow. Less volatile. More in control.

She had his back, both literally and metaphorically. She'd keep him from changing into someone that he wasn't for the sake of one man, one _monster. _Her presence grounded him, reminding him that he was human and maybe letting go for a time was acceptable, too.

Resting his hand on top of both of hers where they rested on his stomach, he murmured, "It'll be okay."

She nodded, giving him a light squeeze in response before pulling away. "Of course it will," she said seriously. "It always is."

He turned to face her, noticing the slight sheen in her eyes as he nodded. "It's good to know you're still human underneath all the stoicism," he mused. "You wouldn't know it if you looked at my Fir - my crew." He stumbled over the words as he diverted the conversation away from Spock. Still, he knew that she'd caught the hint as she sighed and stepped back.

"He hasn't talked to me, either," she admitted, sitting on the edge of her own bed as Kirk leaned gently back against the windowsill. "I'm worried about him. He doesn't internalize well."

She must have been worried to mention it. "He might just need to blow off some steam," Kirk suggested, turning to look out the window briefly at the stars.

He could almost feel Uhura's incredulity, and when he turned to look back at her, one of her eyebrow's had arched. "You remember what happened the last time he _blew off some steam_?"

Kirk smiled ruefully, his hands smoothing over the sill once thoughtfully. "How could I forget?"

It was impossible to ignore the memory that crested his thoughts, pulling him under.

(_He could still feel the momentary exhilaration as he realized that he'd done it, he'd made Spock _break, _exactly as Spock Prime had instructed. But this had never been part of the directive; even Spock Prime hadn't offered him a proper way to handle the situation once Spock went from a benign commanding officer to a lethal force of unleashed energy._

_Spock's threadbare tether on his emotions, his _control, _had snapped, and Kirk had one moment of terrifying, exhilarating, overwhelming clarity of that monster in full force before it slammed into him._

_The first blow was meant to stun, and he'd been too off-balance, too unprepared for the brute strength that Spock had used in his favor to properly redirect. He'd been in more bar fights than he could count, but there was something deeply off-putting about fighting someone not only stronger but also more intelligent than he was._

_Because Spock was a smart fighter: ruthless, clinical, quick. He shot down Kirk's defenses as if they hadn't been there, focused singularly on breaking anything that could make him cease to exist. He hadn't merely wanted to knock him out; he'd wanted to tear him apart._

_Kirk hadn't possessed the strength - three times as strong, jarringly efficient - or stamina - Spock could have beaten him bloody for hours at his leisure long after Kirk had lost the last vestiges of his resolve to resist him. He was defenseless in seconds, fracture lines flaring along his hands as Spock broke his defensive shield in one clean cut strike and went for the kill._

_He'd had the wind knocked out of him, effectively putting him out of commission to defend himself when Spock surged forward, one fist tightening around his throat._

_As black spots had darted before his vision and strangulation turned his heavy gasps into asthmatic coughs, he'd seen the dark fury in Spock's eyes, the quivering, insidious grin that curled his lips. He'd wanted to watch Kirk die. He'd wanted to make him die _slowly. _Kirk knew, with shocking certainty, that Spock could have simply bashed his head against the control panel or torn out his throat if he'd desired a swifter end. No, he'd wanted to see the life drain out of him, wanted to feel the satisfaction of a kill surge through him and erase all other feelings._

_Because there were other emotions, so many and so overwhelming that Kirk could only process the immensity of Spock's rage as it loomed over him, trapping him more effectively than any cage._

I'm going to die, _he'd realized, shocked that he'd miscalculated so far. Spock wasn't _like _this. He might be angry or frustrated at times, Kirk knew how to read the pointy-eared bastard, but he never lost control. Not like this._

_Spock's rage wasn't directed only at him: it had splintered out to encompass Nero, the red matter that had unflinchingly destroyed his whole world, some unseen enemy that Kirk only embodied in his quiet, terrible contempt. When Spock had snapped, he'd unleashed a torrent a wave of emotion so powerful that it had almost killed him._

_He almost didn't realize that Spock had let go, his vision black and his lungs screaming as he let out a series of ragged coughs, desperate for air as Spock's presence slowly melted away, his anger retreating behind a wall of unbreakable stillness._

_Not unbreakable, Kirk had realized, as he'd pushed himself upright and listened to Spock's report. Not meant to be broken._)

Kirk had no desire to subject either Spock or himself to that again.

He knew Spock. He _trusted _Spock. Spock was his everything aboard his ship, invaluable to both his personal wellness and the ship's. He kept him stable in the midst of a firefight and held him back that one step that would have put him straight in the crossfire. He strategized and planned and kept the _Enterprise _afloat at all costs.

Spock kept him safe and sane, and that was what mattered. When all else failed, he had Spock. He hadn't turned on Kirk without good cause, and Kirk had silently vowed never to give him a reason to again.

"I'll keep an eye on him," he promised aloud, because he owed it to Spock. He owed it to _Uhura._

She nodded. "He needs someone," she insisted. "When you were. . . ."

She didn't need to finish. Kirk remembered Spock's anguish well, the helpless feeling of being on the wrong side of the wall and unable to change a thing. He couldn't forget what dying had felt like, but the memory had been changed by life, softened by it, sharp edges sanded down by his consciousness.

On the other hand, Spock's despair seemed etched in stark relief against his consciousness, raw and untouchable.

"I'll talk to him," was all he said.

"Thank you."

The depth of her gratitude was far more than two simple words could convey, but he nodded, silently acknowledging that which couldn't be spoken aloud.

Turning to the window as he heard a low rumble of thunder, Kirk coughed into his sleeve and said, "I should go. I don't want to impose too much on your hospitality." He flashed her an echo of one of his winning smiles, tucking his hands into his front pockets.

She didn't smile in return, but her expression softened as she told him, "It's good to have you back. Captain."

The belated honorific made him smile. He inclined his head, one hand on the door as rain began to drizzle down lightly outside. "It's good to be back," he admitted, pressing the door open and stepping into the well lit hallway once more, lightly buzzed and headachy but satisfied, nonetheless.

It was good to be back.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, y'all.

So, between work and sickness, it's been a few days since I've updated.

Admittedly, this is slightly filler ish. The next will follow through with Kirk's promises and deal more with his relationship with Spock, but this chapter needed to be done to encapsulate a variety of topics that hadn't already been addressed (and will continued to be addressed throughout the story, such as Khan, the Klingons, and the crew of the _Enterprise_).

I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you again for your support. I always respond to every review that I can (so, unfortunately, I can't respond to anonymous or blocked reviews, but I will gladly respond to anyone that signs in and posts on), and I genuinely appreciate all of your excitement for this story. It makes it that much more satisfying to write.

Thank you.

~truffles

P.S. I fully anticipate including the entire command crew in this story, to varying degrees, so keep an eye out for them. They'll be making their appearances shortly.

P.P.S. I request your patience with this story. I do not know when inspiration will strike, and admittedly it is not every day. Thus, in order to produce the highest quality, I ask that you will continue to keep an eye on this story, even if it does take another week to update. Thank you for your patience thus far.


	6. Craters

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

_It's gonna be okay, son._

Kirk breathed out deeply as he sat on the ledge of his terraced apartment, staring out at the early morning fog covering San Francisco bay. Progress had been made to clear the damages; workmen shuttles passed through almost constantly, carrying crew in and pieces of wreckage out. Vaporization was a fairly common practice off planet for removing large pieces of unwanted machinery, but the same technique would send an unhealthy amount of radiation into the atmosphere if performed on anything larger than a grapefruit earthbound. Kirk watched them work in listless fascination. Pathways had been cleared to allow the workers access, and most of the smaller buildings crushed in the _Vengeance's _final strike had been removed entirely.

According to Spock, at least four hundred people had been rescued from the rubble in the immediate aftermath, and another two hundred had trickled in over the ensuing week. Three weeks later, the grounds were silent, the grim remains of human bodies carefully carted away and returned to Medical for proper dressing before the funerals.

Kirk closed his eyes as he saw another shuttlecraft clearly designated with the Medical insignia take off and return to its headquarters.

He had known the reality that fighting someone like Khan could turn catastrophic if anything went wrong. He hadn't protested Marcus' plan to eliminate him from afar, knowing that pushing his luck might result in a far more deadly confrontation. He couldn't have overestimated his skill against Khan's, and in the end, he had still managed to fall prey to Khan's manipulation. The results out in space had gutted him; four hundred and thirteen members of Starfleet had been injured or killed while under his command. The ship's capacity was well over 1200, but the fact that almost a third had either been nearly crippled or given up their lives for their missions wrenched him.

_Do you know how many people I've lost since you've given me command of your ship? Not one._

His eyelids slid open and he squinted at the faint blue light emitting off the horizon, dawn slowly approaching the city. It was a beautiful city, and it always would be, but he couldn't help but feel bleakly aware of how breathtaking the view was from the _outside_. He felt caged being grounded for so long, almost a week since his own miraculous resuscitation and three since he died.

A shiver worked down his spine as he stood, pacing back into his rooms and sitting on the edge of his untouched bed, letting the warm breeze wash over him. It still didn't seem real that he had died and yet he lived again, but he knew that it was true. A modern day Lazareth, he couldn't recall what death had been, precisely. Scientifically, it was easy to categorize: total system malfunction, sensory deprivation, peripheral elimination, and collateral unawareness. A retreat within projected without, the separation of soul, mind, and body.

The burning had stopped. That was what he recalled most clearly, and that was what he clung to as he forced himself not to pursue that path too deeply. Mostly, he couldn't remember what had happened the second he lost - everything. Consciousness, reality, life itself. He might have been screaming in his own mind from the pain, the thunder of his heart in his ears drowning out everything else as he reached forward and desperately clung to his anchor, to _Spock, _and then it had all slowly faded away.

Spock hadn't been able to hold onto him, and he'd sunk below. That was the only other clear memory that he had before it all dissolved into infinity.

He'd once thought that space was the only thing out there that could last forever. Space was infinite, or as close to it as human calculation could come. Each galaxy and star system contained billions of other galaxies and star systems; by reversing the same conclusion, it became a mirror, endlessly projecting trillions and trillions of universes. Within the _known _galaxies, there were so many planets full of sentient life that Kirk could spend years attempting to recite all their species' names, regardless of their personal identities, their culture, their heritage, and everything that made a society functional and whole. Even at the helm of the _Enterprise _with warp power under his belt, the sheer expanse of the universe was daunting: he could travel anywhere at warp speed and still have billions of star systems to cushion him on any side.

And yet . . . somehow he had known that while he had not been consciously aware of himself, or anything around him, or even the presence of other beings, he had known that the isolation stretched on endlessly. He hadn't dreamed, he hadn't slept, but he had heard _them, _somewhere, just beyond the edges of his perception.

There had been darkness. But there had also been a light.

Kirk had no disillusions what had lain behind that veil, yet he had chosen to live instead.

And Bones had caught him and put him back together.

There had been no sense of time in the darkness. It had dizzied Kirk with how suddenly _life _returned to him, one moment deeply unconscious - and the voices were louder, somehow, but Kirk knew instinctively that their sources were farther than ever - the next, startling awake. Bones had been there, gruff and affable in his own way, relief making some of the tension lines around his face ease as he scanned Kirk with a tricorder. The sudden return to sensation had been overwhelming, suddenly, keenly aware of every limb, and yet, muffled, muted, dimmed by the presence of heavy narcotics. It had been a disorienting combination, leaving him floating and also deeply at home, settled in his own body once more, grounded in the world.

And then Spock had appeared, stepping forward from the shadows, his uniform perfectly pressed, his expression calm. A small smile had crossed Kirk's face because Spock had been there. Spock had _lived_.

It had amazed him that Spock could have deflected the credit that he had saved his life, but Kirk understood it a little better, now. Spock had saved him, but Spock hadn't been able to stop Khan, either.

Khan's wrath lay before them. Kirk's jaw tensed a little at the destruction that he knew couldn't be assessed in mere numbers. Buildings could be remade, reconstructed to even more impressive dimensions. People could not.

All those lives . . . and Captain Pike.

Kirk's gut twisted. He wrapped an arm around his own stomach, cradling himself as though it could somehow buffer him from the reality. Pike had died because he hadn't sounded the alarm fast enough. He had deflected, wanting to assess the situation for himself and confirm that he wasn't just seeing shadows before he had told them that it hadn't made _sense. _Khan had attacked a library. An archive, filled with unarmed Starfleet cadets utterly unsuspecting that danger lurked in their midst. While psychologically the blow had been low, it had been far from the worst location that an attack could have been staged, and Khan had to know it. He had been a lieutenant commander, a _first officer, _and all Starfleet officers knew small portions of classified data. He had to have known that there were other possibilities, more deadly possibilities, and it hadn't been until Kirk had slowly worked through the process aloud that he had come to the devastating conclusion.

Spock had already been on his heels, echoing his confusion before the whir of engines had cut him off. Kirk hadn't had time to panic or throw himself to the floor; he'd shouted, "_Clear the room!_" seconds before the first round of fire shattered the windows.

Amazingly, he hadn't been hit. A tiny, mirthless smile curled his lips at the thought. _Blind luck. _He'd been standing directly in the line of fire, but somehow, he'd managed to hit the ground before something more deadly hit him. The phaser fire had been everywhere, blinding and cutting them down. Kirk had crawled to the edges of the room, ignoring the screams and groans of several other officers (_how many of them died because I never stopped? How many died because I didn't go back for them?_) as he collapsed into the hallway, adrenaline making his head throb.

He'd darted down the corner and taken hold of the first weapon he'd found, taking aim from the craft's left side and firing. It hadn't done anything except reveal his location, but Khan hadn't turned fire on him. It hadn't made sense to him, in that split-second between moves, but he'd been too busy wrapping the weapon in the control panel tether - _weight weight it needs weight to hit the right trajectory - _that he hadn't thought twice about it. Khan had needed to keep the officers down, and he had known that his craft had been impervious to return phaser fire, and so he had ignored him. So Kirk had used the only weapons that he had and thrown the phaser in the air.

It had struck home, and Khan had gone down. Kirk had stared at him and memorized his face, vowing to reap his vengeance.

He hadn't known that Pike had died.

Kirk breathed out slowly as he felt a shudder of grief course through him. That had been the worst, hurrying back down the hallway because _Spock Spock Spock Pike _-

Spock had been there, and the stab of momentary relief that Kirk had felt had been quickly overwhelmed by pain as he had realized that Pike had been killed.

His buzzer sounded and Kirk tilted his head in its direction. "Who is it?" he rasped, clearing his throat quietly as the computer responded that it was Spock. Frowning, Kirk stood slowly and answered the door manually, typing in the code and staring at Spock from where he stood. Spock straightened his shoulders minutely, gazing back at him evenly.

"I did not mean to intrude," Spock said carefully, his gaze raking up and down Kirk's form once, taking in all the little details that separated him from his usual unflinching demeanor. His uniform was implacable, but his gold tunic felt like a shield, stretched across his chest and barring his emotions from outward scrutiny. His head ached from exhaustion, but he didn't let it soften the edges of his jaw or the set of his shoulders, redness the only indication that he hadn't slept as long as he'd liked or needed to.

He'd been up all night waiting for a summons from Admiral Barnett that had never come. It hadn't been Barnett's fault, not really; he'd been caught up in his own meetings all night and they had run longer than anticipated, leaving him too tired to carry on an additional debriefing with Kirk. The cancellation call had come at four in the morning, and Kirk had known from the mechanical undertone that Barnett had designated it to his computer, assuming that Kirk would be asleep and wouldn't want to meet with him, anyway.

In Barnett's position, Pike would have done the same, Kirk knew, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Pike would have made the extra effort.

Pike would have set aside time for him. Pike would have made sure that his debriefing took place first before engaging in lengthier conversations with his senior officers. Pike had always seemed to care that he was kept informed, unlike higher officers that saw his precocity as a danger to the soundness of their organization.

Rogues were dangerous, and Kirk could admit it, because he wasn't a rogue. He followed the rules, but when he needed to make a decision and it was either the rules or someone's life at stake, he knew which one he would take.

_I broke the Prime Directive for your life, _he mused, gesturing for Spock to step inside.

Shaking his head, Kirk came back to himself, gesturing for Spock to step inside. "You're not," he assured. One of Spock's eyebrows ticked up in mute curiosity, but he said nothing as he obliged, hands tucked behind his back neatly. "What brings you here, Mr. Spock?" he asked, padding over to his coffeemaker and turning it on. "Hm? Come to see if the rumors are true?"

Spock's head tilted delicately to one side. "To which are you referring?"

Kirk laughed, an honest, tired sound. "Point taken," he mused, leaning back against the counter, steam rising steadily from the coffeemaker. "I suppose _all of them _would be a good place to start. According to them, I'm a repeat offender, a circumstantial liar, a pathological insurgent, a megalomaniac, and a dead man." Ticking them off his fingers, Kirk clasped his hands together, looking across the room at Spock invitingly. "What would you say that I am, Mr. Spock?"

Spock leveled a cool stare at him, refusing to take the bait. "Your record is hardly untarnished, Captain. Nevertheless, I would not define it as megalomania."

Kirk huffed once in soft amusement, shaking his head as he turned to pour himself a canteen of coffee. "How would you define it?" he asked, pulling a mug out of one of the cabinets and pouring coffee into it as well.

Spock didn't even flinch when Kirk held out the coffee to him, accepting it mildly after a moment's contemplation as he replied, "A compulsive desire to protect what is yours. Or what you perceive as yours, even if it does not formally fall under your command." Then, surprising Kirk, Spock sipped the coffee, cradling it between his palms as Kirk dropped into the chair across from him, back almost pressed to the foot of his own bed.

He spared the room a quick glance, soaking in his own quarters. They were tidy, sprawling and luxuriant compared to standard cadet lodgings but still largely untouched. Kirk could have filled them with all the paraphernalia that he had liked, but he already had a home, and he hadn't wanted to remove anything from it by bringing it to these rooms. Aside from the commodities that Starfleet had provided to furnish his quarters, there had been little else to indicate Kirk's presence at all. A tiny model of the _Enterprise _sat on the desk close to the window, and several pairs of his uniform were neatly filed away in one of the chests, but the rest remained empty, oddly lonely. It felt strange, sitting in all the extra space alone; seeing Spock in the chair across from him relaxed a tension in his shoulders that he hadn't known existed.

Taking a sip from his own coffee, he sighed as he felt some of the aches in his joints make themselves known. Spock watched him and Kirk knew that he couldn't hide the tiny flinch as he shifted in his chair. Bones had only released him because he had known that Kirk would have escaped on his own, given enough time. Their compromise had allowed Kirk to speak with the Admiralty - _not enough_ - and reconnect with at least a small portion of his crew - _never enough, _but it didn't do anything to cure the pain that seemed to radiate outward from every extremity.

He had known that Khan had beaten him. Somehow it hadn't seemed entirely real until he had woken up, his fingers flexing and his toes curling with the luxury of _living,_ but his jaw tensing as pain became a presence as well, constant and irreversible.

"Captain," Spock said, and Kirk tilted his head towards him. There was a frown on his face and Kirk blew out a gusty breath, exasperation mingling with fatigue as he asked, "What?"

Spock was quiet for a moment, watching him. He opened his mouth, closed it, and in that moment, Kirk could see the deflection.

"What?" he repeated, more sternly than before, unwilling to let important information slide. Spock wasn't one for small talk; he certainly hadn't dropped by his apartment at 0650 hours just for a morning coffee.

Wordlessly, Spock turned, dug a computer chip out of his pocket, and held it up for Kirk's appraisal. "This is highly classified information," he warned, his voice not changing from its usual cool monotone as he held it out towards him. Kirk didn't move, waiting, until Spock stood and retrieved Kirk's PADD from the counter, plugging it in and staring intently at the screen for several moments before handing it over to him. Kirk accepted it, staring down at the screen, expression blank, before a blank screen filled the PADD.

Seconds passed, the ticker at the bottom of the screen indicating each hundredth of a second, but nothing appeared. Just when Kirk was about to hand back the chip, a familiar gruff voice cut through the room, causing every hair to stand up on the back of his neck.

"For every ship that you build," Admiral Marcus stated, voice unchanged even through death, "I will reinstate one member of your crew."

"I am one man," Khan replied icily, his tone boding ill, impatient and sharp. "I cannot single-handedly erect an armada."

"You will if you ever want them to fall under your command again."

"Somehow I doubt that they will either way, _Admiral._" There was steel in Khan's voice, his anger closer to the surface.

Admiral Marcus seemed unfazed as he replied, "I'm a man of my word, Harrison. If you build me a _Dreadnought-_class, then I'll give you your entire crew back to you. Until then, I have no way of ensuring your compliance."

A long, chilling pause, Kirk's breath heavy in his chest as he waited for an end to the silence. He was just about to ask Spock if that was all when - "I will give you one ship," Khan said at last.

"That's not going to cut it," Admiral Marcus said at once, disapproval lacing every word. "I need - "

"One ship," Khan repeated coldly.

A chair shifted slowly, its hinges well-oiled and almost inaudible in the silence. Kirk knew that shifting weight, though; Admiral Marcus was thinking. At last, he asked sternly, "What are you playing me for, Harrison?"

"An intelligent man," Khan answered, voice too calm. "I want my crew, you want your weapon. I will give you the ultimate weapon."

"We need a new class of starships," Admiral Marcus insisted. "One won't suffice."

"Starfleet has a single flagship. It suffices."

A shiver worked its way down Kirk's spine at the implication. Admiral Marcus seemed to come to the same conclusion, shifting slowly in his seat once more. "What you suggest, Mr. Harrison, could be seen as treason."

"Then we will adjust the lens through which it is viewed." Cold silence ensued, neither party advancing, until Khan resumed, silkily persuasive. "No ship in Starfleet's current employment is prepared to handle open war with the Klingon Empire. The flagship is no exception. Once the Federation has seen how vulnerable the _Enterprise _is, then we will present the alternative. It will not be a weapon at first; it will be a shield." Smoothly, as if there could be no surer fact, Khan finished, "It will be invulnerable."

Admiral Marcus let out a quiet, thoughtful hum.

Khan continued before he could speak. "The flagship is the strongest ship in Starfleet's arsenal, but even it is not invulnerable. Once it has fallen, then we will present our shield. The ultimate weapon." Drawing in a deep breath, Khan let the silence thicken between them before saying simply, "When the war comes, this ship will be the only thing capable of saving the Federation. They will accept it."

Kirk could almost hear Admiral Marcus nodding. "They won't have a choice," he mused.

"Choices are slim in warfare," Khan remarked. "Slimmer if one applies the rules."

"I'm not going to destroy the 'Fleet to save it," Admiral Marcus warned seriously. "I won't destroy the flagship."

"You won't have to." Calm. Cool. "The Klingons will do it for you. You need only give the people ample reason to understand their vulnerability and protect the ship as much as you can. When it goes down, no one will be able to blame you for it."

Again, that shifting weight. "Show me that ship, Harrison," Admiral Marcus ordered, sudden and unyielding. "Show me it, and I'll think about your offer."

Somehow, Kirk didn't need to see Khan's half-smile to know that it was there as he said simply, "As you wish."

The transmission ended, the ticker pausing on _04:52:81._

Licking dry lips, Kirk stared at the blank screen for several long moments. "How did you find this?" he asked, prying the chip out of the PADD and offering it to Spock.

Spock wordlessly took it and pocketed it, hands clasped behind his back a moment later as he stared out the window, observing the mid-morning light as it washed over the bay. "I requested the security footage from Section 31's computer controls," he replied smoothly, no differently than if Kirk had asked what he had eaten for breakfast. "I was denied on security merits, given my non-essentiality to the investigation." Lifting both shoulders in the tiniest of shrugs, he explained, "Mr. Scott was able to access the tape after decoding the _Vengeance's _security consoles. It appears that neither organization had become fully autonomous when the _Vengeance _took flight." Looking levelly at Kirk, he finished, "Twelve missiles of unknown capacity detonated throughout the London Archives. The explosive markings along the interior of the Archives appear to be uncannily similar to those observed on Alcatraz and the remains of the _Vengeance._"

Kirk's head was still spinning at the implication that Spock had hacked into high level security with Scotty's help to get security footage that may or may not have yielded anything more than a breakfast conversation between two officers. The ease with which Admiral Marcus and Khan spoke disturbed him; how deep did the conspiracy lie, that they hadn't worried about someone discovering their endeavors prematurely? Even Khan couldn't have mistaken the danger that recording any sensitive information would hold. Why had they left such a damning piece of evidence behind?

"We have to take this to the Admiralty," Kirk said at last, standing and ignoring the collective protests of half a dozen limbs as he did so.

"That would be illogical," Spock interjected, turning to look at him as he froze mid-step. "We obtained the evidence by force. We cannot present it."

Kirk frowned, mouth gaping opening briefly, stupidly, as he tried to come up with a response. Spock was right. Illegally obtained evidence would be automatically nullified before any court, and the Admiralty was no exception. If they had wanted to keep the information private, then they would not appreciate Kirk throwing their own weapons against them.

"I suspect Admiral Marcus recorded this so he could convict Khan of treason once the _Vengeance _was complete," Spock continued, advancing towards the windows until he stood mere centimeters away, his nose almost pressed to the glass as he looked down at the streets.

Kirk joined him, watching the mill of morning life proceed below, cadets and officers alike mingling on the roads as they hurried off to morning classes and early jobs. It seemed extraordinary to him that, in spite of everything, there were members of Starfleet still attending classes, still working in bio and computer and engineering labs, as if nothing had happened. It wasn't true: many were close to graduation and needed the credit hours to avoid a tedious summer program or, worse, delayed graduation into the next year. Others simply wanted to avoid the trauma of recent events by absconding into their routines. Kirk couldn't say that he blamed them, even if his thoughts turned grimly to the thousands of cadets missing from the scene.

"So he used Khan," Kirk mused aloud, "to get what he wanted. But he made sure that Khan looked like the power-hungry traitor that he was."

"Precisely." Slanting a quick look at him, Spock gazed straight ahead, over the bayfront, as he took a quick sip from his coffee and said, "Admiral Marcus was one of Starfleet's most respected and intelligent officers. He was given the task of building a new class of warships by the same sector that built the weapons we have been mislead to believe do not exist. If my calculations are correct, then those bombs that exploded at the London Archives were not unlike the torpedoes that detonated aboard the _Vengeance._"

A sudden chill swept over Kirk at the implication. "So what you're saying is that there are more. Torpedoes."

Spock inclined his head, jaw set in silent consideration.

Kirk breathed out slowly, forcing himself not to jump to conclusions too openly as he said, "Then there might be more of his crew."

"Negative. The risk would have been too great that the separated parties would not be rejoined, and discovery of either party would have lead to Khan's banishment."

And yet, how much had Admiral Marcus been willing to risk by hiding information about his own involvement to keep his own name clean? Would he have kept a secondary stash in case his first plan failed and he needed to manipulate Khan into submission?

_No._

Kirk had spent hours - countless, sleepless hours - contemplating Khan's question. _What would you not do for your family?_

If even a single member of Khan's crew had been killed or lost during the fight, then controlling Khan would be impossible. He would seek vengeance with a ruthlessness that could not be matched or contained, and he would have destroyed Admiral Marcus. Had Admiral Marcus been fully aware of how much fire he was actually playing with, then Kirk doubted he would have revived Khan at all -

_Klingons would be nothing against Khan and his crew._

No. Admiral Marcus had needed to remove Khan and his crew from the equation permanently. And he had needed to do it in one fell swoop.

Kirk's communicator buzzed and he startled, instinctively picking it up, flipping it open, and responding, "Kirk, James T. To whom am I speaking?"

"_Captain Kirk. Meet me at 0800 hours in my office. Bring Commander Spock with you if you can find him._"

Before Kirk could set so much as a, "Sir," out, the transmission ended. Sighing and rubbing his forehead, Kirk said, "I guess that's us."

"Indeed." Spock set the mug of half-empty coffee aside, straightening his tunic with one brisk movement. "It would be unwise to reveal more than we know." The cutting gaze that Spock gave Kirk then was all the warning that he needed. _Don't mention the recording._

"I won't," was all he said, finishing off his coffee in a single gulp before following Spock out of the apartment, PADD tucked under his arm.

**. o .**

Spock did not speak during the debriefing, aside from a short, introductory, "Admiral." He did not need to.

Kirk's voice carried the conversation, driving dozens of questions. _W__here is Khan being kept? How good is security? What precautions are being taken to ensure he doesn't escape? How many guards are posted outside the hangar? How often do they rotate shifts? Where is he being transported?_

The last, Admiral Barnett would not answer. "It's a security risk," he had insisted, when Kirk had pressed the point that he needed to know where his would-be killer was being transported. Spock could respect his curiosity - he, too, had to restrain himself from asking the same questions - but he also knew that Admiral Barnett would not give in easily. He was the Academy's president; he was used to strong opposition.

Still, Kirk didn't let the issue go lightly. When Admiral Barnett silenced him with a simple, "Kirk. Cease," Kirk's mouth opened in wordless protest before he subsided.

Spock did not rise to his defense. It would not change anything, and Vulcans knew better than to pursue futile goals.

At 0840 hours, Admiral Barnett dismissed them. Kirk exited with his jaw set and his shoulders almost painfully rigid, determination written in every line of his feature. Spock followed him down the hallway, speaking softly.

"It would be unwise to pursue further investigation, Captain."

"It would be _unwise _to let Khan escape," Kirk bit back, too quiet for passerby to hear as they rounded a corner.

Spock ignored the harshness of the tone, increasing his step so he could walk beside Kirk. "I do not wish to see you incarcerated," he warned.

Kirk barked a laugh. "Wouldn't that be justice," he mused darkly.

Spock's brow furrowed. "Elaborate."

"It didn't mean anything," Kirk dismissed, waving a hand for emphasis. "Is Mr. Scott still on duty?" he asked, abruptly switching tactics as they rounded a corner.

Spock repressed a sigh of active irritation. "Captain," he said, waiting until Kirk paused half a meter inside the doorways to the main quad and looked him. His eyes seemed tired and bleak, oddly defeated. Spock swallowed the urge to tell him that he was sorry for revealing any information about Khan and Admiral Marcus - he could not - before finishing simply, "You cannot let your emotions cloud your judgment."

"I'm not going to do anything," Kirk quipped, frustration seeping into his voice even as chastisement made his gaze fall briefly to the floor. "I just have to be sure. He can't slip past us again."

"He didn't slip past us before," Spock reminded.

Kirk whirled to face him, so suddenly that Spock almost started back in response, holding his ground with an effort. "Tell me that he wasn't in control of our ship from the second he attacked those Klingons," Kirk demanded, piercingly soft. "Tell me that he wasn't in control, Spock, and I might believe you."

Spock said nothing. _I cannot lie. _

It had not made sense at the time, yet he had still cautioned Kirk against speaking with Khan, knowing that he would only attempt to manipulate him. For the first time since he had warned Kirk, he saw a different emotion behind his stony visage: guilt. Overwhelming, crippling guilt that he had failed to protect his ship and enabled the one person capable of destroying it access to its heart. Kirk was the captain, and he had made the final decision to release Khan and bring him aboard the _Vengeance._

"We would not have survived if you had not aided him," Spock replied honestly, but Kirk turned away from him with an exasperated sigh, forging ahead through the throngs of crewmen and higher officers without a word. Spock followed.

And slowly, as the tension eased from Kirk's shoulders as he stepped out into the muted light of the quad, Spock thought that Kirk might have experienced the same reprieve from his emotions that logic offered.

_Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience._

If Kirk could influence his emotionality, then it was only fair to return the favor.

**. o .**

"You can't just go running around the campus all the time," Dr. McCoy growled, his low, hushed voice almost disguising the worry undercutting every word. Spock didn't miss it, even though he suspected Kirk might have; his eyes were a shade duller than usual, his expression distracted and harried in equal parts as Dr. McCoy scanned him with a tricorder. His growl dropped an octave as he set the tricorder aside with a frustrated look, somehow out of place and worn even in his own apartment. "God dammit, Jim, you've _barely _healed from a concussion and you went out drinking?"

"Bones," Kirk said, clipped, as he sat up straighter on the examination table. "I need to get to my ship. Scotty said that they're thinking about sending a shuttle of the highest officers up to convene with repair crews in three days for further analysis." His gaze met Spock's briefly over Dr. McCoy's head as he said simply, "I'm higher command. I need to be there."

Spock didn't need to ask to know the underlying implication - _I need to see how my ship is; I need to protect her - _but he didn't offer his support, either, as Dr. McCoy made a vaguely affronted sound.

"You've gotta be kidding me. You have _four _fractured ribs."

"One week," Kirk said, almost wheedling, lacking his usual nonchalance as Dr. McCoy picked up the tricorder again. "Seven days, Bones. And they're not fractured anymore, you said it yourself."

"They're not _healed,_" Dr. McCoy reminded sharply, reaching out and pressing down on the lefthand portion of Kirk's chest.

Kirk's face paled several shades but he didn't make a sound as he glowered at the other man. "I'll make it an order if I have to," he said, voice suddenly steely. "I need to know what the damage still is and what I can do to manage it. I'm not asking your permission for anything else."

"I'm your Doctor; you don't get a choice on that," Dr. McCoy replied acerbically, refusing to be intimidated. "It's a bad fix, Jim. There isn't much I can do short of re-breaking them and hoping that they heal better the second time around."

Kirk stared at him in silent consideration, and for a moment, Spock was convinced that he would allow it. Then his communicator chirped and Kirk lifted it to his mouth without glancing at it once. "Kirk here."

"_Good news, Cap - found the engine coils. Might get some more conclusive results about what made this damn ship fly in the first place. I think you'd want to see this._"

"I'll be there in twenty," Kirk answered. "Thanks, Scotty." Shutting the communicator and looking at Dr. McCoy expectantly, he sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "I know you just want what's best for me, Bones - "

"I'm your friend, Jim," Dr. McCoy said, the raw honesty in his voice making Kirk flinch. "I don't want to see you end up in a bodybag again because I let you go on some harebrained mission to supervise other people doing their jobs."

"I'm not going to end up in a bodybag again, Bones," Kirk insisted.

"Damn right you won't," Dr. McCoy growled, loading a hypospray and brandishing it threateningly. Spock leaned back, observing the proceedings with a mildly bemused expression as Kirk and Dr. McCoy argued heatedly over the necessity of the hypospray at all before Kirk's communicator chimed again.

"Kirk speaking, who is this?"

"_Keptin, I haff located ze formula for overtaking a ship mid-varp!"_ Ensign Chekov reported gleefully from the other end of the line. Then, spirits flagging a little, he admitted, "_Ho'ever, eet appears impossible to replicate vithout varp factor nine._"

"Our inertial dampeners could not sustain such speeds for any considerable period of time," Spock pointed out, unable to help himself as he stepped forward slightly. He had always been more comfortable among equations and logistics; logic was sound. Logic never failed.

Still, he was the outlier in the room, and he knew it. Neither Kirk nor Dr. McCoy acknowledged them as Chekov chirped back a simple, "_Aye, sir._"

"Warp factor nine?" Dr. McCoy repeated, ignoring them both as he jammed the hypo into Kirk's neck unceremoniously. "How the hell did they get a ship of _that _size up to that speed?" he demanded.

"If you redistribute auxiliary and main power to the warp core," Kirk grunted, reaching up to rub his neck irritably as he glared at Dr. McCoy, "then it might have given the ship enough of a boost to manage it."

"_Precisely,_" Chekov chimed in, almost on cue. "_I vould like to explore zis anomaly further. If ve could somehow replicate ze process vithout destroying ze inertial dampeners, zen we might succeed._"

"Keep searching, Chekov," Kirk said, commanding and cool even as Dr. McCoy unloaded another hypo in his neck. "Let me know what you find. I'll be meeting with Scotty shortly." He let his gaze rest heavily on Dr. McCoy, making it clear that he wasn't about to be stopped.

"_Aye, Keptin,_" was all Chekov said.

"Kirk out." Kirk flipped the communicator shut for a second time and hopped off the bed, grunting when his feet touched the floor. "Resourceful, aren't they?"

Spock waited a beat and then offered a simple, "Indeed."

Kirk paused, turning to offer him a half-smile.

Dr. McCoy sighed, shaking his head as he reached back for a medikit and pulled out three vials. "This'll get you through the week," he said grudgingly. "_Don't _use more than one at a time, twice per week. It's a concentrated analgesic, more commonly known as _morphine_. I'm giving you this stash in the hopes that Mr. Spock here will keep you from getting medically shitfaced. Don't disappoint me."

Kirk took the vials in one hand and saluted. "I won't," he promised, reaching out to clasp Dr. McCoy's shoulder in a surprising show of camaraderie. "Thank you, Bones. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet," Dr. McCoy warned, but he didn't move away from the hand until Kirk squeezed his shoulder and let him go.

"You coming, Mr. Spock?" he asked, amusement and curiosity lacing his voice as he limped out of Dr. McCoy's study.

Spock spared Dr. McCoy a curious glance of his own before nodding once and following Kirk out the door.

**. o . **

**Author's Notes**: So, it's been a few days: how is everyone? Hopefully still around and enjoying this story! Thank you so much for your support already. It means the world.


	7. Crevasses

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

There were scars.

Spock was surprised that he had not noticed them sooner, although he allowed that he had been suitably distracted at the time of their creation. Through the blind haze of his own anger in the aftermath of Kirk's death, he had been singularly focused on ending Khan's life. The disarming appeal of bloodlust had fueled his fury to such a degree that all logical facilities within his own mind had been temporarily disengaged. He had been a weapon then, nothing more than a savage tool destined for one purpose and one purpose only: the termination of Khan's existence.

The extent of his anger had been breathtaking to behold. Had he possessed a temporal mirror, then he might have been ashamed at his own utter lack of control, and yet oddly, detachedly, he was satisfied with his own behavior. He had done what he had needed to do, and yet still he had failed.

Because of Khan.

Logic could not have cured his appetite for vengeance nor curbed the profound immensity of his grief. _I have lost everything. I have lost my mother, my home planet, and my former mentor and captain. I cannot lose Jim, too._

Pike's death had been almost too intense for him to bear, but there was something worse about Kirk's withering existence. His exquisite awareness of every labored breath and the inhuman discoloration made him all too attune to Kirk's suffering. Radiation made blood boil. It made cells shatter and skin turn yellow as a result, deadening from within long before the valiant attempts of _will _ceased. A profound headache, crippling pain, excruciating internal organ combustion and, ultimately, fatal rise in temperature were all symptoms of irradiation. Spock had never hoped to encounter it in his endeavors; it was one of the most indubitably painful ways to die, and he would not have wished it upon any member of their crew.

Yet he had sat and watched as Kirk choked and strained for breath, too broken to fix, too heavy to move, as radiation seared every living part of him. And underneath that black shirt, he had known that every ounce of will power had been used to make his heart beat, his lungs draw aching, burning breath, until at last even James Tiberius Kirk surrendered to the inevitable.

Spock watched his captain perform the motions of a pre-shuttle check now, and he did not miss the slim strip of bright red skin visible just underneath that same shirt.

Kirk didn't seem to notice his attention - _care _was perhaps the more accurate descriptor - as he moved slowly through the motions of ensuring that every function aboard the small ship was operating at maximum efficiency. He listened to the shuttle operators' assurances in mute contemplation, his brow furrowed in a perpetually quizzical look. Beneath it, Spock could see the beginnings of a tension headache forming and almost recommended that the captain step away and accept Dr. McCoy's prognosis that boarding a shuttlecraft so soon after a traumatic event was not only illogical but potentially harmful to his health.

He didn't need to say it to know how Kirk would respond.

Even though there were few truly gratifying roles that Spock could fill without a ship at his command, he had promised that he would not let Kirk endanger himself without just cause, nor would he allow Kirk to encounter danger alone again.

He had made the mistake once by letting Kirk space-jump to the _Vengeance _with Khan. Every instinct that he had possessed had urged him to abort the mission and insist that they find an alternate route before it was too late to save themselves. Surely Mr. Scott could have overridden the _Vengeance's _security again; surely they could have diverted some of the warp core reactor's power towards their weapon line and disabled Khan's photon torpedoes; surely they could have come up with a solution that was based on something more than a _gut feeling._

They had had no alternatives, though, and Spock had known it.

He had let Kirk go, and he had lived with the consequences.

Staring at that bright red stripe, Spock almost neglected to offer a formal nod to his commanding officer as Kirk took a seat beside him. "Captain," he said, surprised that Kirk hadn't left any space between them. It was almost customary that they keep their distance. Though they had not cited any formal reasons for the separation, it was a suitable arrangement, professional distance among personal colleagues. It enabled Spock to think more clearly, he realized, as the closeness of Kirk's body made him suddenly, keenly aware of his presence, his every shifting muscle outlined in stark relief. "Our ship appears ready for flight," he said, a calm, neutral topic as Kirk shook his head, yanking the buckles out of their hold and carefully clipping himself in.

"Our ship won't be ready for flight for a long time, Mr. Spock," Kirk replied evenly, nonplussed as one of the operators announced their departure in four minutes.

Spock inclined his head, inadvertently catching another glance of the red scars before murmuring, "Indeed."

Kirk looked at him skeptically for a moment, his own mouth opening as though he would comment before Mr. Scott dropped unceremoniously into the seat beside them, cutting him off.

"I cannae believe they wanted to keep me from the _Enterprise,_" he puffed, indignation lacing every word as he yanked his own seat belt out of its hold in a similar fashion, garbed in his traditional engineer's uniform with a red shirt over top of it. In spite of the stigma attached to it, he seemed to embrace the red, unaware or unfazed by the rumors that crewmen wearing red shirts were more prone to untimely deaths. Mr. Scott was the sort of person that embraced challenge and rebuffed death; it didn't surprise Spock in the slightest to find him robustly indignant on the _Enterprise's _behalf. "Do they even know who I am?" he demanded, as he finished buckling himself in and leaned back heavily in his seat.

For a moment, Kirk didn't respond, pulling his PADD out of his satchel and typing industriously for six point eight seconds before reciting, "Montgomery Scott." He spoke formally, no hint of amusement betraying him as he continued, "Accomplished physicist, warp theorist and practical applications' engineer, torpedo technician, advanced weapons' specialist, functional science officer, and chief engineer for the _U.S.S. Enterprise._"

"A'right, a'right, don't let it get to my head," Mr. Scott grumbled, waving a hand dismissively, his ears slightly rosier than before. _Fascinating, _Spock thought. "It just doesn't seem right to keep us away for six bloody weeks," he insisted.

"There were concerns about antimatter seepage and radiation leaks," Spock reminded, leaning forward slightly so he could look past Kirk and meet Mr. Scott's gaze. Kirk didn't seem to mind, passively engaged in his own PADD, and Spock pressed the point calmly. "It was logical to remove the crew and provide them with sufficient time to recover from the trauma of recent events rather than subject them to further endangerment."

"The _Enterprise _is still the safest ship in the 'Fleet," Mr. Scott insisted. "There's no _endangerment _being aboard a stationary ship docked and powered down. Not one that still has both hulls intact."

"It has been proven that it is more fruitful to be overly cautious rather than not cautious enough," Spock deflected calmly.

"Ack," Mr. Scott said eloquently, folding his arms and turning his attention to the operators as one announced that they would be departing in ninety seconds.

Wedged between them, Kirk ignored their debate, his frown deepening as he scrolled down his PADD intently. "Something amiss, Captain?" Spock asked, voice almost overridden by the pre-launch start up sequence.

For three point two seconds, Kirk didn't respond. Spock was about to repeat his query - it was understandable if Kirk hadn't heard him, given how prone humans were to daydreaming - when Kirk shook his head abruptly, shutting down the notes on his PADD before he offered Spock a borderline wanton smile. "I hope not," was all he said, staring ahead as the shuttlecraft rumbled more audibly, Mr. Scott's voice carrying about the muted roar.

"Not to mention the warp core is _stable._ No one aroun' here understands that it's not like you patch it up in a day and she's a done deal. It takes time, but she's not gonna blow up on us. Keepin' us away isn't going to fix anything."

Shaking his head in vexed frustration, he added, "We know more than half the crew working her over do anyway. Some poor bastards already entered the antimatter compartment without running through the proper decontamination process beforehand. Nothing serious, just some minor injuries: those suits are almost invincible, but you can bet your arse that if anyone hadn't been wearing one of their fancy little radiation suits that they'd have been fried." Following Kirk's gaze to his PADD, Mr. Scott leaned in close and added conspiratorially, "Most engineers don't even know the basics about warp core enhancement and theoretical application in a real ship. Outfit a starship with the standard warp speeds and they'll think she's the greatest thing to ever fly, no questions asked. What they don't know is that if you multiply the input of explosive energy dramatically, then you can achieve much higher velocities."

"How much higher?" Kirk asked, tilting his head slightly to look at him, his attention still largely focused on the PADD but his interest piqued by Mr. Scott's proposal.

_Warp factor nine point nine-nine-five is the highest, _Spock almost said. Almost.

"This is all speculation, Cap," Mr. Scott warned, tugging his seat belt a little more firmly over his torso as the shuttlecraft began to hum steadily. Dropping his voice even further until Spock had to strain to hear him, Mr. Scott added, "But, theoretically, if you could detonate a powerful enough reactor _without _bursting its container and harvest that kinetic energy, then you might reach speeds of up to warp twelve."

The thought was almost unfathomable (_it is impossible to travel at speeds exceeding the terminal velocity of warp_), yet Kirk didn't offer any of his customary protests as the pilot announced that they were ready for launch, their shuttle gliding smoothly into the air. The shuttlecraft's enhancements prevented Spock from feeling any of the excess gravity bearing down on them, comfortably cushioned between the window and the captain of the _Enterprise, _but he could still feel the weight of Mr. Scott's theory bearing down on them.

An imperfect and impulsive method at best, it would subject the ship to extreme risks, including but not limited to inertial dampener failure and irreparable damage to the warp core. If the inertial dampeners failed, then the crew would be shunted back against the walls in the opposite direction of their forward movement until the pressure pulverized them. Traveling at such high velocities for any sustained amount of time would cause catastrophic internal damage, and even low-speed warping without proper inertial dampeners was a volatile maneuver, prone to causing severe spacial headaches, disorientation, vertigo, and several dozen other health maladies ill-suited to a functioning Starfleet crew.

Detonating a high energy radioactive device _inside _the warp core would be suicidal, if any of the systems should fail to contain it. Even if all went according to plan and the device detonated properly without causing a major breach in the core's lining, then there was still the probable likelihood that the ship's conversion systems would not be able to harvest the explosive energy quickly enough to put it to any productive use. At minimum, it would overheat the ship's internal circuity and upset the warp core's standard antimatter composition, creating problems that would require months of thorough decontamination and repair to solve.

The mere suggestion that such a technique could work astounded Spock.

Yet Kirk never said a word, turning his PADD back to a set of screens once the shuttlecraft had leveled out several thousand meters about San Francisco bay. The furrow between his brows deepened as he read, shifting restlessly in his seat as he scrolled through the information, Mr. Scott rambling on about his findings from the _Vengeance _and how the unusually thick engine coil imprints suggested that Admiral Marcus might have already tested the theory - and made it work.

_Impossible._

Focusing on the slow upward motion of their craft, Spock kept his gaze resolutely forward for approximately six point eight seconds before tilting his head slightly to read over Kirk's shoulder, his gaze aligning briefly on the red underneath his collarbone. _How much damage is there? _he wondered, unable to properly judge without full exposure. Small glimpses were enough to confirm the existence of scars but not the extent. A frustrating compromise, one that he was abruptly certain Dr. McCoy shared when evaluating Kirk's condition.

Spock let his gaze slide over the words on the screen without pause, absorbing them without processing any of them. _Antimatter Containment. Warp Core Reactivity. Photon Torpedoes. Inertial Spacial Resistance._

"See anything you like, Mr. Spock?" Kirk murmured, too low for Mr. Scott to hear as he clicked systematically through the tabs, nose scrunching in concentration as he moved from one topic to the next.

Even though Spock knew that the query was casual and entirely irrelevant, he responded quietly, "They have not healed."

Kirk arched an eyebrow, opening his mouth to ask what Spock meant before his mouth firmed as realization dawned abruptly across his features. His voice was pointedly neutral as he said simply, "They're fine." He dismissed the tabs and looked over at him, gaze dark and abruptly reminiscent of their last ride in a shuttlecraft together. Dr. McCoy had been scanning him then, searching for the unknown compulsiveness that drove Kirk's actions to almost manic proportions (_desperation fear anger hatred need want craving pain_) even though no tricorder could have distinguished the emotional turmoil accurately.

Kirk's expression was blank, but Spock could almost hear the rising beep of the tricorder, indicating all the hidden physiological signs that screamed wrongness, that defied the illusion of normalcy.

Spock leveled him with an unwavering stare, hoping to prompt him to a more honest response. To his credit, Kirk didn't even flinch, meeting his gaze and almost daring him to speak.

Mr. Scott interjected before he could, seemingly oblivious to the sudden tension between them, unintentionally obtrusive. "Right, well - Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott?" Kirk asked, smoothly breaking their stare as he turned to address the engineer instead.

Spock sat rigidly in his seat, keenly aware of the heat radiating off Kirk's skin five centimeters away, unwilling to put the issue aside even as Kirk did exactly that.

Tilting his head to look out the window, he watched as blue skies gave way to black space, reflecting on his own negligence.

He had half-lead, half-carried Kirk back to Dr. McCoy's quarters for a patchwork treatment in the wake of his confirmation as captaincy, yet he had not noticed the burns then. It shamed him to realize that he had been so blatantly single-minded. Logically, he should have noticed that something was amiss when they were walking. Kirk's back did not seem affected - the burns ended at the hipbones, if his observations were correct - but his stomach was covered in the same painful red that Spock was ninety eight point two percent certain covered his entire chest.

He didn't get a chance voice his queries - _why have you hidden this from us? _- because Kirk spoke, then, a low, whistling awe deepening his voice.

"There she is," Kirk announced softly, leaning over him to look out the window as the _Enterprise _appeared in their sight.

The reverence in his tone seemed at odds with the smoldering wreckage that was the flagship of Starfleet.

Most of the _Enterprise's _protective paneling had been sheared off upon re-entry into Earth's atmosphere. Helmsman Sulu had not been exaggerating when he had warned them that they would have been incinerated upon re-entry if they hadn't been able to get power or shields back online. It had been a close event, looking at the _Enterprise _now. Extensive primary hull damage stood out against the backdrop of space; the empty spaces where silver linings had once graced its hull made the ship look simultaneously fragile and indestructible.

She had undergone a trial by fire, and she had survived. In spite of his reservations about Kirk's erratic methods, Spock couldn't help but look at him, soaking in that proud, admiring, fiercely protective gaze.

Kirk didn't say a word for the remainder of the transport, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes fixed on the view as he alternated between quick glances at his PADD and long, wistful stares at the ship itself. Mr. Scott didn't seem to notice his distraction, filling the air with idle chatter about ship functions while Kirk nodded in periodic acknowledgment.

Spock turned his attention to the Space Dock itself as they pulled inside the landing hangar, the massive steel doors sliding shut behind them as their shuttlecraft aligned on the platform. As the pilot conducted the the final landing check, Kirk unbuckled his seat belt, a momentary flash of pain crossing his features before he suppressed it and let a warm, open smile unfold on his lips instead, already out of his seat before half of the crew had even thought to move. "At ease," he told the guards at the doors of the shuttlecraft, climbing down the landing ramp in four loud steps. Spock rose carefully from his seat, Mr. Scott fumbling with his seat belt briefly before hopping to his feet.

"Better get to it, then," was all he said, hurrying after Kirk.

Spock inclined his head in silent agreement.

**. o . **

The breathless joy that Kirk had felt as soon as he set his sights on the _Enterprise _quickly dissolved into sympathy as he realized the extent of the damages that she had taken.

Starfleet had permitted them to evaluate its condition once their captain was stable. None of the extraordinary details regarding his revival had been publicly disseminated, but he didn't miss the incredulous and relieved faces that greeted him before all were quickly schooled into formality. It was refreshingly different to be addressed as 'sir' and 'Captain' once more, even if the titles made his brow furrow each time before he realized that they were addressing _him. _He hadn't had time to settle into the role publicly: days after the _Narada _incident, Starfleet had regrouped and, after several lengthy communications, designated Kirk to M-class planet evaluation for several months to hone his skills. It had been meant to be simple observatory work - Kirk might have ventured to call it child's play_, _once - and for six months, they had done nothing but pander to old allies.

Nibiru was the first true challenge: a populated planet with primitive sentient beings. They weren't members of the Federation and, according to Pike, weren't meant to be. Unlike their previous diplomatic ventures, they had been meant to keep a safe distance, preventing interaction between the Federation and Nibiru's natives at all costs. The prime directive that Kirk had violated for Spock's life clearly stated that no primitive life forms were to be made of their presence, regardless of the price, but Kirk couldn't work like that. He couldn't give up lives for regulations, even though he recognized and understood their importance in _other _situations.

Hostage situations, natural disasters, interspecies' conflict, unexpected interplanetary disruption - dozens of circumstances that told Starfleet officers in no uncertain terms to _stand down. _If Nibiru's populace were destined to be destroyed by an active volcano of cataclysmic proportion, then no Starfleet officer was to interfere, no matter how much he might want to preserve an indigenous species. The Academy had drilled it into their minds half a hundred times: species died off every single day. Every _second, _billions of lives were lost, lives that none of them could hope to save. None of them were qualified enough to tamper with the natural selection that ensured temporal stability and universal peace.

Nibiru had been Kirk's first real challenge as a Starfleet officer. And according to every regulation, he had failed.

His decision had been simple, because he couldn't have looked down at that planet and done nothing. There were hundreds of thousands of them, each with their own tribe, their own homes, their own _sentience_. _  
_

Starfleet officers weren't supposed to play God, but who was he to deny them existence when the problem was so damn _curable? _No one argued with the billions of 'interruptions' that occurred every day, sentient beings going out of their way, putting _themselves _in harm's way to spare another. It wasn't restricted to humans, either, Kirk knew: doctors in any garb were professional interruptors, determined to stop the inexplicable downward fall of sentient life, intervening time and again to provide a second chance.

Maybe Nibiru was no different than the hundreds of other primitive civilizations doubtless wiped out by the universe's unflinching resistance to life, but it was something that Kirk could change. It was something that Kirk could _save, _and if he had thrown the dying population a line, then he hadn't done anyone a disservice.

_You almost lost Spock._

That still resonated with him, and as he cut a quick glance at his first officer, he knew that Spock's resistance to rescue hadn't been a reflection of his personal desire to die, in spite of his attempts to convince Lieutenant Uhura and him otherwise.

_Sentience. Utility. Optimization. _All big words with little meaning when it came to the emotionality of living and dying. Spock hadn't _not _cared about his own death, but he'd learned not to think of himself as anything different than anyone else.

The universe was apathetic. Mastering apathy towards death was one of the first commands given to any Starfleet cadet seeking the line of Command, and desensitization to fear was perhaps the greatest challenge they would need to overcome.

_Courage isn't the absence of fear, _Kirk recalled, having frowned at the utterly indifferent manner that the professors addressed the morally-loaded topic. _Courage is the ability to recognize that fear and overcome it._

Spock had stood in the center of a volcano and accepted that he was about to die. As Spock met his gaze now, brief, inquisitive, Kirk was reminded that maybe Spock's judgment hadn't been entirely unsound.

He'd wanted to preserve what he knew he had no right to tamper with. He'd wanted to keep the Prime Directive sacred, a law laid down by man to prevent the equation of God from interfering.

But Kirk had defied him, had defied everyone without comprehending a fraction of the breadth of universal certainties that he was upsetting, because some things were worth breaking the rules for.

_Spock saved your life, _the same voice reminded, and Kirk couldn't help but smile.

Some said that the universe would always correct itself, that _equal and opposite _wasn't simply a phrase applied to physics. He liked to think that maybe it had, and universal apathy could be overturned as a result.

"Captain Kirk," one of the crewmen greeted, saluting respectfully as she stepped in front of him. He returned the salute and she dropped it, looking from Spock to him curiously. "I've been assigned to escort you to the _Enterprise._"

Kirk nodded once, taking a moment to bring himself back to the present. Scotty was standing less than six feet away, engaged in an apparently heated discussion with one of the other crewmen, gesturing emphatically. Resolving to inquire about that later, Kirk offered their escort a bright smile and said, "I believe we can take it from here, but thank you for the offer."

Opening her mouth to protest, the escort hastily closed it and nodded once. "As you were," she said, stepping aside. "Life support systems are still unstable - "

"We'll follow protocol," Kirk assured her, striding ahead with Spock following just behind his left shoulder. It was comforting to have him there, and in spite of the controlled chaos of the landing deck, hundreds of crewmen working to monitor the seven ships docked and their crews, Kirk felt a singular eagerness bubbling up inside him at the thought of being back aboard his ship again.

As he stepped into the closed hangar connecting Space Dock 1 and the transporter bay of the _Enterprise, _he could feel the anticipation tingling in his fingertips, itching to get back to the controls and assess the damages for himself.

It was one thing to be told that his ship was damaged. It was another to see it. But until he could step inside and feel the damages for himself, _fix _it, then he couldn't rest easy.

She was vulnerable, and now he had to protect her. She had saved his crew; now he had to return the favor.

Breathing deeply through his mouth, he pressed the intercom button opening a channel between the ship and the space dock. "Captain James T. Kirk, _U.S.S. Enterprise, _with Commander Spock, _U.S.S. Enterprise, _requesting entry. Over."

"Clear for entry, Captain," a familiar voice replied, and Kirk's lips twitched in amusement as he awaited Sulu's confirmation. "Welcome back. Over and out."

The doors opened and Kirk stepped inside, a fresh wash of cool, clean air preceding him. The hangar felt almost stuffy by comparison, his gaze drawn immediately upward as he soaked in the ship's expansive transporter bay. Most of the thirty five shuttlecrafts had been temporarily relocated to the Space Dock's holding center while repairs were being made, but the entire compartment still gleamed a marvelous, mesmerizing white.

"It's gonna be a long time before she's flight-worthy," Mr. Scott admitted, materializing at his side with a wrench in hand, looking relieved to be back aboard his ship. "She's not so bad, for a patchwork job, though."

"I'm sure she'll heal up just fine," Kirk agreed, resting a hand on one of the computer panels as he paged Sulu once more. "Mr. Sulu, where are you located?"

"Communications' lab," Sulu responded almost at once.

"Meet me on the bridge," was all Kirk said, ending the transmission. "Mr. Spock," he added, turning to face his First Officer while the latter merely stared back impassively. He considered sending him off to the Science labs for a final systems check before recalling himself, shaking his head slightly as he realized that they wouldn't be undocking - let alone _flying _- any time soon. "Walk with me," he settled on.

Kirk faltered as he turned and found himself face to face with Carol Marcus. "Doctor," he blurted.

Her gaze flicked between them, a hint of a smile on her lips as she looked at Kirk and echoed lightly, "Captain." Then, inclining her head, she added respectfully to Spock, "Commander. Permission to accompany you to the bridge?"

Kirk considered it. "Granted," he said, turning on his heel. "Mr. Spock, what are we looking at?"

Spock fell into step beside him, holding up his PADD and, after a quick glance, rattling off the systems' checks perfunctorily as they walked. "The ship appears to be stable, Captain. Life support at eighty two point nine percent and stabilizing. Major systems offline, including the main engine, auxiliary power line, warp core reactor, and all non-portable weaponry. Radiation leakage confined to the antimatter compartment, currently undergoing treatment and full scale decontamination. Decontamination at sixty three percent." Scrolling down his screen, he added, "Blanket external damage to both hulls. Primary spacial leaks confined to lower decks on Engineering."

"Crew members on board?" Kirk asked, stepping into the turbolift and pressing a button to hold the doors until both Spock and Dr. Marcus had filed inside.

"Two hundred and six."

Kirk nodded once. Releasing the hold button, he ordered, "Bridge," as the turbolift doors slid shut.

"I owe you a thank you," Dr. Marcus added almost before they'd glided into motion. Kirk's gaze cut to her, skepticism and surprise warring on his face before he tentatively returned her smile. "You saved my life."

"Just doing my job," Kirk assured, shoulders relaxing slightly. He didn't let himself wince as it tugged at the raw wounds over his torso - radiation had a penchant for leaving vicious wounds in its path, and he was fortunate that his were no longer lethal - but he did straighten them again when Spock added, "It was logical to reduce the amount of life lost on both parties."

Kirk nodded once, agreement in every line of his features as Dr. Marcus looked to him for confirmation. "You two are different," she mused suddenly.

One of Spock's eyebrows almost rose. Kirk hesitated before pressing the hold button on the turbolift. "What do you mean?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Nothing bad," she assured, looking up at him before glancing back at the panel expectantly. He released the hold, waiting for elaboration as the decks slowly passed beneath them. "You're just more . . . I don't know. Compassionate. You're a lot more compassionate than most officers I've ever met. They would have just launched the torpedoes and thought nothing of it. You tried to save the _Vengeance's _crew."

Kirk inclined his head a bare fraction of an inch, saying simply, "Compassion can go a long way in diplomacy, but sometimes it's just part of being a decent human being, too. Mr. Spock reminded me of that."

Spock's eyebrow _did _raise at that, but the doors were opening and Kirk was stepping out of them before either could respond. "Captain on ze bridge!" Chekov chirped, a familiar smile working its way onto Kirk's face as he stepped out into the open. He was startled to see all the officers - including Chekov, Sulu, and _Bones _- on their feet, saluting dutifully. "At ease," he told them all, watching the fractured bridge crew return to its duties as Bones prowled forward, already growling threats as he pulled out a tricorder.

"Bones," he chided, clasping both of Bones' shoulders in his hands and ignoring the twinge of pain that it sent through his chest. "I'm fine."

"The hell you are," he growled, watching his tricorder intently. He didn't seem to notice Kirk's exasperated expression at all as he scanned, at last scowling - relief or stress, Kirk couldn't tell - and saying, "At least you don't seem to have made yourself worse in transit."

"I'm fine," Kirk repeated, releasing him and pacing the floor of the bridge in a single wide arc, observing, calculating, considering, before sliding thoughtlessly into the Command chair, staring out the clear screen into open space. Longing swept over him as he looked past the gold tunics on Chekov's and Sulu's backs and stared into that unknown. _It's an __abyss, _his mind helpfully supplied, a dizzying sensation of falling without ever moving threatening to overcome him. He swallowed it back, the fledgling exhilaration evaporating as he looked up at the massive fissures still rendering the bridge of the _Enterprise _inert. She would need some extensive repairs to patch the holes: at least a month apiece for each screen damaged.

No, crave it though he might, they wouldn't be moving any time soon.

"You know, you never reported for that physical," Bones mused, standing at his left hand shoulder while Spock did the same at the right.

"Bones, let it go," Kirk ordered, accessing the computer's database and frowning at the results. "They haven't played back the recording."

"A redundancy overlooked in light of recent events," Spock put in, unperturbed.

"I thought Starfleet liked redundancy," Kirk insisted, scanning the files. None of them had been accessed outside of the ship's own crew, and those transmissions hadn't been broadcast to Earth. "This isn't right. They should have heard this. It's just my word against Admiral Marcus' otherwise."

"Perhaps it is a demonstration of good faith," Spock prompted.

Bones rolled his eyes, pocketing his tricorder. "When has Starfleet ever settled its credits on _good faith_?"

Kirk frowned and ordered, "Send these to Admiral Barnett directly, I want him to hear it." He held up his PADD to Spock, who took it without a word and coded in the correct destination and password before hitting send. "I thought you were on shore leave," he added, almost conversationally, at Sulu's and Chekov's backs.

"I didn't want to miss this," Sulu admitted, turning in his chair to look at him while Chekov continued to type rapidly. "It's good to see you again, Captain." He met Kirk's gaze with open relief, a slight smile upturning his mouth before he turned back in his chair. "Reports are looking pretty good so far. They weren't able to proceed with most of the internal damages until radiation leaks were confined, but progress has been steady ever since."

"How bad were the radiation leaks?" Kirk asked, frowning as he accepted the PADD back from Spock. "Any of our own affected?"

"Not that we've heard of," Sulu said neutrally. "It's possible symptoms wouldn't have shown up until later, but it's been a month and aside from a little spacial sickness, everyone in that compartment checked out clean."

Kirk nodded, his skin itching with the memory of burning from the inside out seared into his flesh and mind. He wouldn't have wished death by irradiation on anyone, and the thought that any of his crew had been in danger of it made his hair stand on end. "I don't want anyone without official confirmation entering the antimatter compartment or the warp core reactor. Understood?"

"I'll send the transmission," Sulu confirmed, fingers a flurry of movement as Spock wandered over to his own station, powering up the computer and scanning the incoming readings for abnormalities.

Kirk let his gaze wander back to Dr. Marcus, occupying one of the formerly unmanned lieutenants' seats, and asked, "Problem, Dr. Marcus?"

"Just some routine scan work," she dissuaded, glancing over at him briefly before returning to the program. "It's unusual, but the fuel engines appear at maximum capacity."

Kirk leaned back in the command chair slowly, turning to face Sulu critically as the latter opened his mouth to protest. "That's impossible," he said, tapping at his data spread as Spock retorted lightly that it was, "Improbable given regulation but still possible with a four point three percent likelihood."

"Why would they leave the fuel in her tanks?" Kirk asked, brushing a hand against the arm of the chair absentmindedly as though it held the answers. Solid steel felt good underneath his fingers; it had been too long since he'd been aboard a starship, too long since he'd sat in the command chair. Too long since he'd been aboard the _Enterprise. _Without the familiar hum of her engines thrumming under his fingers, she felt absent, empty, a lady away, leaving them to pick up the wreckage they had left in her wake. It was a cheerless prospect, but there was something rejuvenating about being on a ship at all, even a grounded one.

It was the flagship. Impressive, no matter what way one spun it. It heralded acclaim and prestige and devotion undying. Its crew was as bound to her as she was to them, serving them dutifully regardless of how difficult the obstacles became.

It was theirs, and while Kirk might not have come aboard the same ship he had left, he couldn't deny that it was comforting to be back on the bridge.

Except for the jarring inconsistencies. Starfleet rarely skirted regulation, let alone so openly, and with the flagship, it was almost unheard of. _What are they waiting for? _

"Mr. Sulu, contact Starfleet," he ordered, prompting a swift, "Aye, sir," as Sulu worked to do just that. "I want to know why they haven't been following protocol." _  
_

"Keptin, I'm picking up an unauthorized transmission."

Kirk frowned, one hand tensing around the arm of the command chair bracingly. "Elaborate, Mr. Chekov."

Chekov shook his head, looking lost and frustrated as he said, "I can't - " before a smooth, silkily deep voice cut in.

"_You think your world is safe?_" Khan asked, soft and serious, as the entire bridge crew froze, every face stilling in disbelief. Kirk's hand was so tight around the chair that his knuckles had turned white, his breathing suddenly shallow as he stared in the face of his enemy, a thick glass panel the only thing separating them, so secure and yet so very vulnerable. "_It is an illusion. A comforting lie told to protect you._"

Kirk didn't speak. He couldn't move. Slowly, he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and said, "Mr. Chekov, origin of transmission."

"2259.58," Chekov responded softly, seemingly unwilling to break the sudden silence that had descended over them. "0740 hours, sir."

_Son of a bitch. _He'd sent it to them mere minutes before he'd betrayed them, killing Admiral Marcus and almost finishing off the rest of them in the process. How he'd managed to hack the _Enterprise's _internal systems without any external help baffled Kirk, but he couldn't say that he was surprised. It was Khan.

And Khan was better at everything, including ensuring that his enemies knew just how deadly he was.

_It's not just him, _Kirk thought, as he recalled the way that Khan had referred to the Klingons and the Neutral Zone, the mounting tension between the Federation and the Klingons. They had always had a tentative relationship at best, fragile and easily disturbed, but it had never seemed so vulnerable until Admiral Marcus had stranded the _Enterprise _itself in deep space with no chance of aid and no hope of escape if discovered.

It struck Kirk that maybe Admiral Marcus hadn't been acting alone in those moments, that perhaps Khan had wanted to incite a war between the two factions just as eagerly.

_We were his amusement, _Kirk thought, feeling sick to his stomach as he ordered, "Mr. Chekov, patch through to Starfleet, inform them that we may have a hack in the system compromising the ship's readouts."

"Aye, sir," Chekov said softly, obliging.

When they received the call from Starfleet HQ five minutes later, Kirk was surprised when Admiral Archer himself answered. "Don't tell me you broke her already," he said, voice gruff but almost affectionate as he met Kirk's gaze, sobriety overcoming the brief amusement as he said, "Something wrong, Captain?"

"I believe so, sir," was all Kirk said, delving into the inconsistencies one by one, feeling the weight of the captaincy settle a little more heavily on his shoulders with each one.

**. o . **

**Author's Notes**: Hello again, everyone!

Thank you so much for your continued support. I hope you enjoyed.

~truffles


	8. Collusions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Starfleet was neither pleased nor alarmed by the news. Spock found the emotional neutrality curiously out of place.

He listened to Admiral Archer speak, eyes trained on the inexpressive lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Although most of his attention was focused on the conversation itself, he could not avoid the quiet calmness that exuded from the admiral, an underlying serenity at odds with his outwardly agitated demeanor. He spoke evenly yet ardently, ordering the crew of the _Enterprise _to run a full system check if at all possible and to keep in contact with the repair crews stationed at Space Dock 1. He would relay Kirk's discovery to Admiral Barnett directly as soon as the newest Head of Starfleet was available; the latter was currently engaged in a meeting.

Even though all outward signs were positive and procedures followed commendably well, Spock experienced the intense and irrational urge to question the admiral's honesty. Starfleet Command had been shaken by Admiral Marcus' betrayal, and Spock knew that the remaining officers were more pressed for time than ever before, but there was something unsettling about Admiral Archer's unshaken approach.

_I do not trust him._

He let his gaze fall on Captain Kirk, seated in the command chair without a single hair out of place, and felt the same distrust reflected back at him.

_Fascinating._

Kirk was cordial over the intercom, however, almost joculiar, in light of the circumstances. Once the reports had been submitted to the appropriate parties, Admiral Archer's inquiry about Kirk's health was met with a calm, "Doing well, sir," and then, unobtrusively, "Yourself?"

"To be honest, I could be better, Kirk," Admiral Archer admitted, sounding more weary than Spock could ever recall. It did not sit well with him; Starfleet officers were notoriously stoic, even in the face of calamity. They did not allow weakness to show, as Kirk had oft-demonstrated through personal example. Allowing fatigue to bleed through his own voice was an obvious grab at something – what, Spock could not deduce. Not without further information. Still, without any basis for his interrogation, he was forced to listen silently as Archer continued.

"It's been one hell of a trip since you and your ship went out into the unknown," he acknowledged aloud. Kirk nodded in acquiscience, and Spock thought that he might have seen a wry smile touch his lips. _Fascinating._ "We lost contact with you long before you reached the Neutral Zone, and once we finally got your transmissions. . . ." He let the sentence trail off, the air weighted with a meaningful pause. Admiral Archer shook his head, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze outward over San Francisco bay, half a million kilometers below. "Let's just say we weren't expecting to hear that one of our own had committed treason and attempted to destroy you," he finished.

Kirk hummed in noncommital agreement. "With all due respect, sir," he said, dropping his voice without losing any of its clarity, "how is Starfleet planning to handle that investigation? It has come to my attention that the Command has yet to formally convict Admiral Marcus of any crimes."

Admiral Archer's weight shifted on the other end of the transmission as he took a seat behind his desk and replied with abrupt terseness, "Admiral Marcus is dead. We have had more pressing concerns that convicting a dead man of crimes that he is no longer capable of answering for."

With deliberate slowness, Kirk leaned forward in his chair, meeting Archer's piercing stare on screen with an unreadable emotion building behind his eyes. Spock noticed that every crewman aboard the bridge was watching him; he did not flinch under their scrutiny, and his voice did not waver as he said, "Admiral Marcus is dead, sir, but he was the head of Starfleet. Slips don't _happen _in Starfleet; they're covered up. Whatever he was doing . . . he wasn't operating alone."

"Most of the men and women working in Section 31 are dead, Mr. Kirk," Archer replied bluntly, his tone so utterly expressionless that Spock almost apologized for submitting a redundant report in light of a catastrophic event before he could catch himself. Luckily, Vulcans were not raised to casually retract statements, and it had not been Spock's assertation to submit in the first place. Kirk's battle was his own, and engage in it though he might as a casual bystander, Spock knew that he was still an outsider. He could not intervene on Kirk's behalf, nor could he oppose what Admiral Archer said next as he added in the same colorless voice, "Those that survived have been taken into custody. Trials pending. Yours was bumped to the front of the list due to the enormity of the case."

Forty-eight formal grievances had been submitted against Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_, none of which had been carried through to an actual conviction. Once, Spock would have argued that it was impossible to slip through so many accusations unscathed. After witnessing Kirk's rise to power firsthand, he no longer held such reservations. Kirk was anomalies, and like-minded anomalies gravitated towards him. Evading arrest was simply one of his more eccentric habits.

"We need you in command, Kirk," Archer continued, his voice rising as he spoke, crescendoing without once dipping into the realm of outright anger. "With Starfleet as decimated as she is, we need every officer out there doing his job exactly the way that he's supposed to. While we're doing everything we can to take care of Marcus' betrayal, we cannot allow ourselves to be deaf and blind to the concerns of the other worlds. We're the safeguard of a _Federation, _not a single planet. We can't allow complacency to settle in because we put too much of our energy toward resolving something that was out of our hands."

"It shouldn't have been out of your hands," Kirk said, and silence descended over the bridge crew, thick and inescapable.

Admiral Archer allowed the accusation to smolder for eighteen seconds before interjecting sternly, "Tell me this, Captain. Would you have allowed Khan to accompany you to the USS _Vengeance _had you known that he would mutiny, take control of the vessel, kill a Starfleet officer, and attempt to destroy your ship had you known his true allegiances beforehand?"

Kirk licked his lips and said nothing. Uncertainty clouded his eyes, and Spock wondered if he was recalling their brief conversation en route to the Medical Bay where Khan awaited them.

(_"Captain, I cannot allow you to do this."_

_Kirk whirled to face him, the sudden, sharp gesture of a restraining hand on his shoulder too much for isolated coldness. His eyes were wide – almost inhuman in their intensity – and his words were blunt as he told Spock, in no uncertain terms, that he had no idea what he was doing, that he was only doing what he could even though both Spock and he knew that it was a suicidal plan if Kirk's intuition proved wrong._

_Logic prompted Spock to restrain Kirk and return him to the bridge at all costs. Even at the illogically devastating loss of Kirk's trust, Spock would have been willing to bring him back to safety if he had believed that it was the correct path._

_But he had seen the bright-eyed, fiercely protective glint in Kirk's eyes, and he had known that nothing would have stopped him from attempting to save the ship. There were no more logical answers – bringing Kirk back to the bridge would only have delayed his inevitable end alongside the rest of his crew's, not eliminated it – and Spock had done the only thing that he could have._

_He had looked Kirk in the eyes and let him go, trusting his intuition._

_That was the last time Spock would ever see him alive and in person before the chamber._)

Sometimes, Spock believed that he should have been more adamant about Kirk's return. Listening to Kirk speak then, however, he felt the unspoken assurance in his words as he told Admiral Archer, "I did everything I could to save my ship. When it became clear that there were no other options but to take the _Vengeance _from within, I used whatever it took to achieve that goal. Khan's loyalty was irrelevant. I could not have done anything else."

_You couldn't have stopped me, Spock. Not while I could have done something to save the _Enterprise._ Not even if it meant allying with Khan._

Spock Prime had not chastised him for allowing Kirk to board the _Vengeance. _He had not expressed great confidence that the venture would succeed, but there had been trust in his eyes – _I trust Jim Kirk _– that had not lost its unshakeable certainty even as he told Spock that he did not believe it was possible for subsequent events to unfold in a similar fashion. He had cautioned Spock to prepare for the worst and hope for the best – _a human expression often repeated at times of great uncertainty _– and given him a crucial piece of advice: _If you are going to take the ship from within, then I suggest you utilize your weaponry in a similar fashion._

To some, the hint might have been overlooked. Somehow, Spock had known at once what he was referring to – _the torpedoes _– and he had been ordering their preparation for transportation before Spock Prime had even terminated the transmission.

His entire world had shrunken to Jim Kirk and the monster that he had unleashed with him aboard the USS _Vengeance. _Engineer Scott was there, too, he had recalled in a vague flurry of movement, one moment commanding Doctor McCoy to assemble and arm the torpedoes, the next borderline frantically trying to restore communications with Captain Kirk to inform him that Khan's betrayal was no longer an improbable but indubitable outcome.

Six point eight seconds after he had sent out the fourth unsuccessful Enterprise_ to Kirk, _Kirk's face had appeared on screen.

Already bruising, already bloody, and exquisitely enraged.

Kirk's profile had not changed, Spock realized, as he looked at him. The harsh immediacy of the injuries and rage-fear-anger-_pain_ had softened, but the bruises were still there, the disturbing misalignment of bone and muscle and aching, feverish life defining him. He met Admiral Archer's obstinacy with his own, and he did not bow before the challenge. Khan had already threatened to destroy him and everything that he held most dear.

There was little about the consternation in Admiral Archer's voice that could shake that unflappable resolve. It was comforting.

_He will protect them with his life, _Spock knew, observing the bridge crew observing the captain, wondering where it all began and ended, the continuous circle of needing to protect and needing to preserve.

Life was too precious to risk frivolously, and in the wake of his planet's destruction Spock was more keenly aware of this reality than ever before. His species could not afford to treat life as an expendable commodity, used and abused to extravagant ends before simmering off to nonexistence. He was careful, treasuring seconds, savoring moments of quiet and peace and darkness and solitude as once he had only cherished fine dishes and succinct conversations and light, honest melodies. There were arts that were created and retrieved easily, and others that required more patience and nuture to see and understand. Spock had become more attune with those quieter arts after Vulcan's destruction, but he had never fully understand the undying necessity among people to risk everything for the sake of a miniscule return.

A Starfleet captain – a competent, capable, experienced Starfleet captain – was worth a hundred cadets. A Starfleet captain like Kirk was worth ten thousand.

Yet Spock knew without a trace of doubt that Kirk would continually and unflinchingly put himself into the heart of danger if it meant that he could preserve even a single life. He would not do it lightly, and he would dig in his heels and _fight _for every other option available to him, but he would act as he needed to, even at the expense of his own sanity, health, and life.

"Contrary to your belief, Captain Kirk," Admiral Archer said at last, "you are not the only one that has the best interests of Starfleet at heart." Rebuke leadened his tone, but resonance gentled it. He understood Kirk's vantage point; that much was certain.

"We all make mistakes," he continued, addressing the entire crew, it seemed, as he added, "what defines us is how we handle those mistakes. How we respond to the next crisis. Right now, we cannot afford to focus on past errors when there are future crises to be averted. Our position with the Klingon Empire is precarious at best. Admiral Marcus' actions doubtless exacerbated the situation. We are working on restoring those relations before addressing the fallout from this series of attacks more meticulously.

"We have already done everything in our power to prevent a secondary attack from within, but now it is our utmost priority to turn our attention outward and ensure that things do not escalate between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. We are not prepared for an open war. And so while I understand your concern," he added, speaking to Kirk alone, Kirk once more meeting his gaze with electric intensity, "I cannot spread our lines any thinner."

_So it's up to us to keep ourselves safe._

Spock did not need to meld minds with Kirk to know exactly what he was thinking as he leaned back in the chair, feigned relaxation emitting from every syllable as he said, "I understand."

Admiral Archer gave an abortive grunt that might have been an, _I'm sure you don't, _a phrase often applied in the singularly baffling case of James Tiberius Kirk. Whether teacher or student, Kirk never seemed to fit perfectly within the mold of anyone's expectations. Spock found it oddly refreshing, even though his own conformity to regulation offered all the excitement that he desired in his own personal experiences. Kirk's defiance and ease in command were something to be admired and not quite understood; it was simply part of who he was.

"I'll transfer Admiral Barnett's instructions to you once he clears his meeting," Admiral Archer said, all cool, inapt confidence once more. "Monitor the ship for any other abnormalities; if you notice anything that could threaten its stability, isolate the problem and neutralize it if you can. If not, evacuate and stand by for further instruction." With that, he ended the transmission, Kirk's breath leaving him in a single long gust of air as the screen went black.

No one spoke for six long seconds. Then Kirk rose, straightened his tunic, and ordered, "Mr. Sulu. I want a ship-wide scan, check for anything that doesn't look right to you. I don't know what you're looking for but I have a feeling you'll know it if you see it."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu replied, already focused on the screen in front of him as though his attention had never been diverted from it in the first instance. Spock appreciated that, and he did not doubt the brief flicker of relief that crossed Kirk's face was anything but sincere as he turned to address Chekov, Uhura, and Dr. Marcus in return.

"Chekov, run a cross-scan, all systems, use the override code if you run into any interference from Space Dock personnel."

Spock's head twitched, but he restrained the immediate protest that wanted to leave him. Chekov came to the same conclusion seconds later, murmuring, "Aye, Keptin," as he began scanning, tapping frenetically at the panels.

"Uhura – " He paused, hesitated, then approached and requested in a nearly inaudible murmur, "Search for Klingon transmissions in the area. Report back to me when you have them."

One sculpted eyebrow rose in wordless consideration before Uhura stood, retreated to the far corner where she could access the long-distance sensors, and picked up a headset. Spock could have sworn she squeezed Kirk's hand lightly in passing, there and gone before even his sharp eyesight could catch it.

Unexpectedly, he saw in the hard lines of Kirk's face and the worried furrow in Uhura's brow a scene barely weeks old:

_Kirk, prone on the earth, already entering a mild form of shock as blood dripped out of the corner of mouth, face gray. A thick whine slipped past his lips as he rose, breathing heavily as he met John Harrison's cold stare with wild, open defiance._

_Blood racing, pulse escalated as Spock held the newly-liberated weapon at Harrison's head, he watched Kirk issue a standard acceptance of Harrison's surrender, half-prepared to stun him when Kirk lunged forward, already punching, his hand sweeping up in a sharp undercut. He landed six more hits before Uhura's desperate, _"Captain!"_ cut through the haze of his furor._

_He had looked barely alive, then, pulling away from Harrison and staring at his unmarred face with the battered, disbelieving awe of the damned._

". . . I don't care if you're a Goddamned Starfleet captain, your vitals are way off," Dr. McCoy insisted in a heated whisper that Spock somehow doubted he had been invited to acknowledge. Drifting over towards Dr. Marcus and helpfully distancing himself from the Captain and CMO, Spock scanned her screen out of reflexive curiosity.

"Mr. Spock," she greeted without turning around, her brow furrowed as she scanned the results of another transmission quickly. Spock caught traces of classified override codes and the designation for Section 31 before a muted yelp startled him from across the bridge.

"God _dammit, _Bones – "

"Don't be such an infant," Dr. McCoy growled, pocketing the empty hypo with a ruthless lack of apology. "Your blood pressure was rising, you were about to hyperventilate anyway, and we need to – "

"You can't just make those decisions!"

"I can as your senior medical officer!" Dr. McCoy retorted, flailing a hand irritably to demonstrate a point Spock found difficult to comprehend without extensive knowledge of Dr. McCoy and Kirk's inner relationship. He knew that the two were friends, but it was difficult to categorize the raking discussion currently taking place in the middle of the bridge as _friendly._

To their credit, none of the bridge crew turned to watch, intent on their tasks. Still, Spock decided intervention would be wise and stepped forward, asserting himself calmly at the forefront as Kirk turned stonily to address one of the lieutenants in the corner, Dr. McCoy hot on his heels.

"Doctor," Spock began, intercepting Dr. McCoy and adopting a calmly chastising tone that his own father had not failed to use with him whenever he strayed from the Vulcan expectation of presentation, be it professional or otherwise, "though I share your concerns and accept your prognoses as, on the whole, accurate, I would not encourage you to proceed in a similar manner." Then, more quietly, he added for Dr. McCoy's ears alone, "I will speak with him."

"He doesn't _listen,_" Dr. McCoy began heatedly, already straightening and bracing for an argument –

Seconds before the main power system went out.

"Keptin, I haff detected an irregularity – "

"Understood, Mr. Chekov," Kirk said, icy calm in the center of the abrupt frigidity. "What happened?"

"I – am not sure, Keptin," Chekov replied, distress lacing his tone as he typed frantically at his station, the sound echoing with empty taps in the dark. "But I accept _full _responsibility."

"Somehow, Mr. Chekov, I doubt this is your fault, either," Kirk replied quietly, pacing forward. "Contact Space Dock 1, see what they make of this. Mr. Sulu, patch me through to Mr. Scott if you can, I haven't seen him since we boarded. Mr. Spock, I may need you to override the system and reboot auxiliary power if we can't restore communications with the Space Dock." He paced in slow, even circuits as he spoke, addressing the stations calmly, a beacon of solidarity.

Even with the light blue glow of emergency power strips illuminating the bridge, preventing them from being plunged into utter darkness, the scene was eerie, uncannily similar to the freefall that they had already been subjected to mere weeks before. Spock's stomach sank irrationally at the thought, dipping towards Earth in a slow, laborious tumble. Eventually gravity would catch up with them and their nauseating plunge would deepen to a heart-stopping race to the surface.

He had to remind himself that the ship had merely lost power in one sector, that they were anchored firmly to a Space Dock twice as far as they had been from Earth and unable to come untethered without serious damage to the connecting spires, and breathed evenly as he listened to Kirk rattle off instructions once more.

"Ai yai yai," Chekov grumbled as the ship refused to yield anything more than a black screen to his repeated efforts, grunting once in frustration as he hunched over his seat a little more.

"Someone disconnected the Space Dock and the _Enterprise _power grids manually," Sulu surmised, swiveling in his chair so that he was facing Kirk and Spock directly, mouth pinched. "We'll need to contact them via one of the portable comm systems to reestablish power, but someone should put us back online momentarily–"

Even as he said it, the lights flickered back on, the ship's engines thrumming underneath their feet. The tension lines in Kirk's shoulders relaxed fractionally at the sound, an indefinable emotion passing across his features before a loud, tinny voice erupted from his communicator.

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cap – we're not ready for a spaceflight here, we've still got major leakage in the antimatter compartment._"

"We're not going on a flight, Scotty," Kirk assured, ordering Sulu softly to 'power her down.'

"The system's still rebooting," Sulu reported, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat as he examined the baseboards in front of him. "I can't – "

The thrum of the engines had reached a whining pitch. Kirk paced back to his chair, punching in a code and ordering, "Scotty, I need you to power it down manually."

"_Aye, Cap'n. I'm on it!_"

Kirk waited alongside the bridge crew, Spock drifting among the stations, examining the full scale reboot with dark, unreadable eyes. The _Enterprise's _vulnerability disturbed him; the Space Dock's primary duties encompassed the safety of ships and crews, neither of which could be guaranteed during unexpected power fluctuations.

Judging by the tense lines of Kirk's jaw, he concurred.

The muted roar of the engines whined softly under foot, quietening as it faded. "_Mission accomplished, Cap. Powering down,_" Mr. Scott relayed unnecessarily.

Kirk nodded once, already on the move. "Uhura, keep that channel open, but open a separate data log – I want to know all communications between now and Khan's last transmission. Scan for signatures, cross-reference for any unusual similarities. Sulu, keep an eye on the engines, make sure they don't start up again. Chekov, patch through to Space Dock 1, inform them of the situation, relay their reply to my comm."

"Aye, Captain," three voice chorused, Kirk's attention elsewhere as he spoke to one of his security officers. Spock missed most of that conversation, intent as he was on the ship's unexpected malfunctions, when Dr. McCoy cut in uneasily, stepping forward and, for once, with neither medical kit nor hypospray brandished.

"Jim," he said, quietly enough that Kirk turned after giving the lieutenant a single nod of approval, "you don't actually think it was Khan, do you?"

"I have two suspects here, Bones," Kirk replied, equally soft, and Spock knew that he was not intended to hear the next, "Only one of them's Khan," as they turned, backs to the main panel.

Spock distracted himself by standing by Dr. Marcus' shoulder once more, requesting the data logs for the Science department almost absentmindedly.

"He's right," she said, distracting _him, _and he could not ignore the immediate surge of unease that accompanied the statement.

"How much do you know about Admiral Marcus?"

"More than either of you give me credit for," she offered, an almost rueful smile tinting her lips before she sobered. "Less than I thought I did, truthfully. I always thought he was a reasonable man. I see that's not the case."

Spock knew what she was referring to and shared her evaluation of the situation. Admiral Marcus' willingness to sacrifice the crew of the _Enterprise _had starkly contrasted with all Starfleet regulations and personal scrupials regarding the treatment of a ship's crew. He had not cared who died in his efforts to restore Khan to an inert state. He had only wanted Khan rendered permanently incapacitated once he had realized that he had slipped out of his control; further aggression merely coincided with that desire.

"I am sorry about that," Kirk said, interrupting their conversation with a soft, familiar ease that at once closed them off to the remainder of the bridge crew. Spock shifted aside minutely to include him, passive and observant.

"It's not exactly your fault, is it?" Dr. Marcus admonished lightly.

Kirk said nothing.

"What do you know about Admiral Marcus?" Spock repeated, folding his hands behind his back.

"I know that he was the Head of Starfleet," Dr. Marcus replied, turning fully in her chair to face them, her blue eyes impossible to judge. It occurred to Spock suddenly that it might seem uncouth to question a woman about her dead father mere days after the event; nevertheless, Dr. Marcus' voice did not falter as she continued. "I know that he wouldn't have done anything without having at least some sort of back-up plan. He was corrupt, but he knew what he was doing. If he wanted the _Enterprise _destroyed without a trace –"

"Then he would have done so," Kirk concluded, a gruffness in his voice that made his words somehow even more ominous than Dr. Marcus' clipped, "Precisely."

"Access to the flagship is limited," Spock pointed out. A safety precaution installed to prevent precisely what Dr. Marcus was implying, the ship's limited accessibility meant that each Deck had a different series of override codes, each station a specific operator that required certain preliminary codes to access.

Even medical override codes were limited to the senior medical staff, and of the bridge crew, only the Captain had knowledge of seven of the thirteen ship-wide override codes. The other six were split evenly between the First Officer and the top three security officers, including the Chief of Security and two of his seniormost command. Spock had been forced to surrender one of his precious codes to Space Dock 1 for them to dismantle the ship's power systems for repairs; he retained the other two with a fierce protectiveness at odds with his usual openness with information. Starfleet officers could not afford to keep many secrets, but those that they needed to were so valuable that even the highest in Command could not acquire them easily.

Spock knew that Kirk had distributed two of his override codes among Chekov, Sulu, and Engineer Scott already. Dr. McCoy had his own special CMO override that enabled him to access any living quarters aboard the ship and most of its public sectors even when they were closed off to the remainder of the crew. Uhura was adept at intercepting transmissions; an override code for her area of expertise would have been redundant. Spock himself knew at least two of Kirk's override codes, and Kirk knew one of his. By unspoken consent, they had not broken the rule and shared more than they already knew; not only would it have violated their orders, but it would have also endangered the ship.

And yet . . . the warp core had malfunctioned in the middle of Klingon territory, without provocation and utterly without forewarning. Kirk would not have approved the launch if he had suspected the warp core's susceptibility to damage or disrepair. Ship-wide examines were run before every flight, each diagnostic meticulously reviewed for any irregularities. Some margin for error was acceptable, but the sheer amount of calamity that had erupted as soon as the ship reached Klingon space suggested an unlikely but possible saboteur acting upon the ship.

Khan's evaluations had confirmed it, Admiral Marcus himself grounding the theory when he had made his unexpected appearance at the edge of the Neutral Zone.

If Admiral Marcus was capable of overriding the ship's codes to the point that he had infiltrated their warp core reactor – one of the most heavily guarded portions of any starship – and thoroughly upset it, then Spock knew his limitations were few.

The thought was unsettling, and Spock saw the same unease cross Kirk's face before he schooled his expression into careful unflappability once more.

"Mr. Scott," he called, already holding his communicator to his ear, "I need you to check for any cloaked devices in the engines."

"_And how do you propose I do that without getting inside them? I can't risk it while the ship's still got a full tank on her._"

Under normal circumstances, Spock knew, the engines would already have been emptied and decontaminated, making them almost harmless even when they were powered on. However, with a full tank, the engines were lethal; no one dared to venture inside them without risking serious burns or worse. "I'll transmit you an override code that should enable you to cut off power indefinitely to that department. You'll be flying blind, but at least you won't be at risk of irradiation."

Kirk's voice was calm, but Spock did not miss the trace of doubt lacing his own words, Scott's quiet, "_Aye, Captain,_" echoing the solemnity of the order as he confirmed the order and signed off. Kirk took a moment to send the data before turning back to their conversation, eyes implacable once more. "Dr. Marcus, monitor the frequencies in the ship's Engineering bay; if any heat signatures spike, let me know. I'll shut everything down if I have to, but we're still connected to the Space Dock and I don't want to interfere with their systems if at all possible." Turning, he asked, "Lieutenant, how are those communications coming along?"

"We have contact," Uhura said. "They don't know why the power went offline but they've stabilized the field around the antimatter compartment. Nothing appears to be at high risk, so they're asking us to stand by and power down for further evaluation."

Kirk rested a hand on one of the control panels, his tunic shifting fractionally, a sharp glimpse of red almost shocking Spock into speech. Dr. McCoy's assessment of Kirk's condition – _your vitals are way off _– had failed to elicit a more preemptive response from him, yet he worried that even Kirk's pain threshold would be surpassed if he did not receive further treatment soon.

Spock had learned only after the _Narada _incident that Kirk would push himself beyond that limit if need be, but eventually even sheer will could not overcome it.

Initially, he had hoped that Kirk had not overestimated his ability to board the _Enterprise _so soon after his live-threatening coma. (It still amazed Spock that a _life-threatening coma _had been an optimistic outcome.)

Yet he had found those tiny vials of morphine that Dr. McCoy had allotted him curiously absent from Kirk's things when they had boarded the shuttlecraft, and it had not taken long for him to realize that Kirk had not ditched them in a show of extravagant bravado.

He had used them.

In three days time, he had used a week's worth of morphine, and the rigid lines ringing his arms suggested that perhaps he had yet to use enough.

Spock's gaze flicked to Dr. McCoy, wordlessly weighing the merits of his presence aboard the ship, suddenly certain that he had opted to be part of the command crew permitted on the decks for more than simply his general medical expertise.

Kirk prowled across the bridge, restlessly examining the intricacies among him that colluded to form one extraordinary force. There were few creations that could rival that of a well-endowed starship, and the _Enterprise _was the highest of its class. Every control panel transmitted data in a nanosecond what would have taken an earthbound supercomputer hours to digest. The best, the strongest, the most protected – so they had been told upon her christening.

_It is unwise to launch a ship before she has been properly christened, _Spock recalled, stepping aside to let Dr. Marcus and Kirk speak directly as he considered the implications of a more auspicious beginning. Would they have faced the same terrors that they had? Or would Nero have simply captured them, forced them to witness the destruction of Vulcan and Earth, and then killed them? So much had happened in barely a year's time, and then Harrison had risen silently, lethally among Starfleet as its most gifted and criminal operative.

It made Spock's head ache, but he resisted the compelling urge to step back and meditate for a time. The burdens of command were ceaseless, and it would not have been right for him to steal time from them when he knew they were already harried.

_They do not need you,_ a seductive voice admonished, beckoning him towards the quiet, healing dark. Kirk's crew was competent, and Kirk's attention had not strayed from them since entering the bridge, Spock forgotten at his shoulder.

It took him a moment to place the sudden uncharacteristic twisting in his stomach as _jealousy. _Refusing to concede to it, he straightened his shoulders, clasped his hands, and waited for proper address. Kirk's concern were about the ship, and while Spock could perform most duties, he also could not deprive them the opportunity to settle back into normalcy. Even with tension lacing every word, Sulu and Chekov both appeared relaxed in their chairs, Uhura standing with near perfect stillness in the corner, her gaze focused distantly on some unseen object as she listened to a communicator line intently. Kirk moved among the rest of the officers easily, communicating and gesticulating in equal parts, refusing to touch. It startled Spock as soon as he noticed it, the professional distance that he kept. Some might have not noticed it, but Spock knew that Kirk disregarded boundaries in any form.

He touched hands and squeezed arms and slapped shoulders to express his gratitude, appreciation, and general bewilderment with the conglomeration of talent and sheer will coalesced into one small space. As he moved among them now, Spock noticed that he remained almost rigidly apart, keeping distance from them and addressing them by rank as often as name.

It was cordial, formal, appropriate – and so inexplicably wrong for James T. Kirk.

Kirk left the bridge abruptly, and without consciously deciding to follow Spock found himself half a step behind him as he stepped into the turbolift, the doors swishing shut behind them.

"Something isn't right about this," Kirk murmured, low, disturbed, as the 'lift began to descend.

"I concur, Captain," Spock allowed, words too rusty in the silence. He continued when Kirk chose not to speak, speculating aloud. "It is highly improbable that Starfleet would approve the treatment that the docking personnel have given the _Enterprise._ Unconcealed negligence and unsafe miscalculations aside, they have allowed us to board without establishing a secure parameter beforehand, a duty regarded in the highest capacities among official personnel."

"They want us to fix the problem," Kirk mused aloud, almost as if he had not heard him, the turbolift slowing as they neared Deck E, "yet they won't let me know where he is. How am I supposed to fix a problem I can't see?"

Spock opened his mouth with a preemptory, "It is not your duty to repair the ship," when the meaning behind Kirk's words sank in. He closed his mouth once more, thinking. "Perhaps it is not yours to fix," he allowed, knowing that he was not referring to the _Enterprise._

"They can't keep my ship safe; how can they keep _him_? If I let Khan escape, he'll come back," Kirk warned, looking over at Spock seriously, entire body one tense line from head to toe. Blowing out a sudden exasperated breath, Kirk halted the 'lift and shook his head, his gray pallor more alarming in the bright white lights of the 'lift. All he said was, "I can't –" before shaking his head again, an abortive motion.

"Captain?"

"Does it ever stop?" Kirk asked, emphatically, before smashing the button for the 'lift to resume its descent, folding his arms across his chest. "How do you do it, Mr. Spock?" he asked, terse and unforgiving.

Spock looked at him carefully, intuitively knowing that Kirk's emotions were far from stable and his response could not prompt him to further irrational reactivity. "Do what, Captain?"

Kirk let out a sound that might have been a laugh as he said, "Pretend he isn't real."

"I do not," Spock said simply.

Kirk looked at him, and Spock met his gaze, realizing with belated certainty that this was a conversation that Kirk had needed to hear weeks before when first regaining consciousness, to know that Khan could not escape, _would not _escape, and that Spock would insist upon that simple truth at all costs.

"I cannot believe that the threat is unreal," he said aloud, even as the doors to the turbolift opened and Kirk stood, silent and unmoving, in the 'lift's center. "However, I insisted that Khan's containment be complete. He will not escape."

Four simple words, yet Kirk's nod led him to believe that maybe they had been enough to ease a fraction of the restlessness itching just underneath the surface.

Yet as he stepped onto the brig after Kirk, he could not silence his voice.

_You think your world is safe?_

_It is an illusion. A comforting lie told to protect you._

When the first shot of phaser fire sailed over Spock's head, he had only time for a quick, "_Captain,_" before the next shot knocked all thoughts of Khan – and consciousness – from him.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, everyone!

Creating some waves. I have an exciting new story line in the works that I will start writing/posting once this is complete, as well as a three-part series intended to fulfill a prompt. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this! Next update will be coming soon.

Also, I've finally finished working through Mijan's work and basking in the awesome. If you have not already, then you should definitely check out Mijan's works. (I strongly recommend _Crossfire, _third in the Academy series.) They are phenomenal.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

~truffles

**P.S. **My laptop is unfortunately having issues, so I have been unable to respond to reviews. I will, however, respond to them as soon as I get these issues worked through.

That being said . . . **review?** Any input is always appreciated.


	9. Infiltration

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"What the _bloody_ hell was that?"

Mr. Scott's demand was piercing amid the white noise chafing at his senses.

Consciousness returned abruptly to Spock, one moment utterly ignorant of the world, the next keenly aware of his own surroundings. He appeared uninjured and, as far as his crude, subtle assessment could determine, intact: everything seemed to be in working order. Relieved and somewhat frustrated that he had been caught off guard in the first place, he heard the brig doors hiss shut behind Mr. Scott. Opening his eyes, he levered himself carefully into an upright position, unobtrusive and unseen.

Almost blatant contradictorily, Mr. Scott could not be missed: his arms were pinwheeling energetically at his sides as he advanced further into the room, his face already purpling in rising indignation. Spock stood slowly from his sprawl on the floor, spared the indignity of explaining his unexpected incapacitation as Mr. Scott barreled forward, oblivious to the thick, ringing tension in the room.

To Spock, it seemed like an electric current had formed in the center of the room, pulsing outward in waves. He could not tell what was emitting it or where it was coming from, but the hum of a phaser gun set every hair on his neck on edge, his natural instinct to detain and contain muted by Mr. Scott's tyrannical advance.

"D'you have any notion – any _wee _notion – what unregulated phaser fire can do to a ship that isn't cleared for warp travel while she's attached to a bloody space dock? D'ye? _No!_ You cannae just go aroun' firing those bloody things! One tinny charge could detonate the entire antimatter compartment, and I do not need to explain why _radioactive subspace high-energy detonation _would not be a good thing!"

It took Spock a second longer to realize that Mr. Scott's arms were not actually pinwheeling but rather gesticulating ferociously at the subject of his scrutiny: Captain James T. Kirk, brandishing a phaser gun in dazed bemusement, his feet planted solidly on the floor with his body angled directly at the Scotsman. A sudden wash of unease swept over Spock, flashes of phaser fire and _Captain!_ echoing through his head before blackness overrode his memory; he advanced a step forward, intending to find answers to his inquiries.

"Mr. Scott," he acknowledged, and Mr. Scott jolted as though he had been shocked when he spotted Spock in the corner, his red face turning a shade darker as he gave an exasperated snarl and turned away from him, focusing on Kirk once more.

"Put that bloody thing down already," he ordered, fearless in the face of authority.

Kirk blinked twice before reaching down and wordlessly deactivating the phaser gun. Spock noticed that his hands were shaking faintly, but his eyes were steely, unwavering. Before Spock could so much as prompt an explanation – Pike's standard _How the hell did _that _happen_? seemed almost laughably apropos – the turbolift doors swished open a second time.

Chekov came racing in, a full security personnel detachment at his heels, phasers armed and ready in spite of Mr. Scott's furiously swelling chest, another rant already building as Chekov spoke. "Keptin, Keptin, I haff detected unauthorized transportation in ze brig!" he announced, almost crashing into Mr. Scott in his haste to inform Kirk of the situation. A blurted, "Sorry!" escaped him as Mr. Scott made an exasperated gesture and told him, "Don't mind me trying to do _my _job of not getting _this _ship blown to bits!"

"We appreciate your concern, Mr. Scott," Kirk said, calm and oddly unruffled, as though he were addressing a party at the end of a long mission rather than two men converging on mutual – if polarically opposite – emotional tides. "Mr. Chekov, I want you to contact Space Dock 1 immediately, we're requesting a full security personnel to assist with the docking. I want everyone off this ship in ten minutes, is that clear?"

"Aye, Keptin," Chekov affirmed, looking too relieved at the sight of Kirk in command to question the order as he darted off. "Enzin authorization code –"

"Lieutenants," he addressed, looking over the security officers and bowing his head in quiet acknowledgment. "Escort the bridge. Ensure that no one is left behind, I don't want any more misreadings on that. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," the chief of security, a man Spock had not had an opportunity to acquaint himself with, agreed. They filed out of the room after Chekov, leaving Spock, Kirk, and Mr. Scott alone.

The room was too quiet, suddenly, and Kirk stepped forward, shoulders straight and jaw tensed in anticipation.

"Mr. Scott," he addressed formally. "I respect your authority as chief engineer aboard this vessel, however when the ship is compromised it is my duty to protect it by all means necessary."

"Firing a phaser with an _unstable _warp core is not protecting it," Mr. Scott cut in, ruthlessly and singularly unimpressed with the argument as he met Kirk halfway, barely half a meter apart as he squared off with his captain. Spock could see the way that Kirk used his height to his advantage, able to bear down on Mr. Scott without actually moving an inch. "It's putting everyone on board at an unnecessary risk, and I cannae justify what a few shots could do for the potential payout."

"Do you see those marks, Mr. Scott?" Kirk demanded, voice suddenly stone cold and still, and Mr. Scott stiffened before he turned slowly on his heel and looked at the far wall. Unable to help himself, Spock turned as well, knowing what he would see: phaser burns. Metal retained the scorches more clearly than skin, which blistered and blackened unhelpfully, and the clear shapes of half a dozen shots made it clear that the confrontation had been violent. "None of those triggered an explosive reaction," Kirk persisted, gentling his voice in a way that still retained its authority somehow. Spock stepped forward a little more, aware that Kirk saw even as he kept his attention firmly fixed on Mr. Scott. "I understand and appreciate your concerns, and my security detail has been debriefed not to use their weapons in the vicinity of the antimatter compartment if it can be avoided, but I will not hesitate to return fire if need be."

With that, he holstered the phaser gun, turning to address Spock directly for the first time. "Did you see what they looked like?"

Spock wracked his mind briefly for a hint of any features and reluctantly shook his head. "Negative. I was unable to identify any of the intruders. However, I would agree with Mr. Chekov's assessment that there were at least two of them. Regarding a third, I am uncertain."

Kirk inclined his head, an unreadable expression on his face and a grim look in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. That will be all. Report to the bridge."

One of Spock's eyebrows ticked up in involuntary surprise at the dismissal. "Captain?"

"Need I repeat myself, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked, turning away from him as Mr. Scott drew in breath for another argument. "Don't," he told him, very seriously, and Mr. Scott closed his mouth, looking put off and grimly unamused.

"You're testing the wrong man, Captain," he said stiffly, back and shoulders straight but face lined, weary. "If you continue to disregard my assessments –"

"You'll resign?" There was a light, almost mocking tone to Kirk's voice, and Spock would have recoiled in disgust if he had not been so reserved. As it was, Mr. Scott let out a huff in a strangled breath and said, emphatically, "_Yes._"

Kirk's fingers twitched. It was almost imperceptible to Spock's eyes, and he might have missed it had he blinked, but he saw the tiny movement towards the phaser gun, the reflexive trigger instinct dying down before it could be openly caught.

Mr. Scott did not appear to notice. Spock stepped forward and Kirk's gaze twitched in the same way, acknowledging and analyzing him in one look. "Mr. Spock," he allowed, stepping back a little to give him room to join their informal circle. "I want all decks searched for security breaches, let's not have that happen again."

Spock inclined his head but did not move, not missing the way Kirk's eyes narrowed fractionally as a result. "That was an order," he pointed out, almost lightly, but not nearly lightly enough as Spock advanced.

"Mr. Scott, clear the room," Spock ordered calmly, approaching Kirk and standing half a meter away, breathing slow and even. He could see Kirk's breathing hitch as he straightened himself, eyes hard and unreadable. "I have unfinished business with the captain. Monitor security."

Mr. Scott gave a noise that might have been assent before turning on his heel and saying loudly, "We'll have words later, laddie." Then, in Spock's direction: "Try'n talk some sense into him, will you?"

Spock's gaze did not leave Kirk's as Mr. Scott walked away, keenly aware that he had been ambushed once and it would be easy enough with an undiagnosed security breach for a repeat incident. As soon as the lift doors shut, Kirk relaxed, shoulders slouching a little in unrepetant calm.

"So, Mr. Spock –"

"What have you done with him?"

Every line in Kirk's body went rigid, his relaxation evaporating instantly. "I believe you're the one who sent Mr. Scott away," he pointed out, regaining his composure quickly but not quickly enough.

"What have you done with Captain Kirk?" Spock insisted.

Kirk stared at him, working his jaw as though he would speak before shaking his head. "They told me you were good," he mused aloud. "They didn't tell me you were a telepath."

Spock did not relax at the nonchalance, assessing aloud, "My telepathic abilities are limited. Your behaviorial variation was conclusive."

"Behaviorial variation," Kirk repeated, testing the words, savoring them. "How eloquent of you."

Spock inched forward.

Kirk levered the phaser gun at his chest.

"Stand down, Mr. Spock," he ordered.

Spock stared at him, calm and cool and unruffled. "Where are you from?" he asked, delaying his former inquiry.

Kirk's jaw twitched. "Stand down," he repeated, muscles tense and ready to fire.

Spock weighed the merits of pressing his cause or retreating and held his ground.

Kirk made a vaguely frustrated sound, a soft grunt in the back of his throat, before squeezing the shot off.

Spock was ready for it, though, and he redirected the shot to the ceiling, one hand firmly planted on the gun as he held the steaming barrel upward. A deft twist of his wrist and a firm yank had Kirk locked in a tight hold, unable to properly aim but able to fire at will. Two more shots squeezed off, narrowly missing Spock's side as he twisted, blackening the leftmost walls as Kirk snarled and elbowed him in the stomach.

With one ruthless downward cut, Spock broke his wrist.

Kirk grunted in mingled pain and frustration, limp fingers releasing the phaser before his left hand had a chance to recover. Spock seized the weapon in his own hand and kept one steely arm wrapped around Kirk's torso, grunting when Kirk slammed an elbow into his sternum.

"Release me," he ordered, Kirk's voice, Kirk's strength, and Kirk's clarity even in the center of a bar fight working against him as he moved, already trying to turn the tables.

But it was not Kirk, and Spock knew it with every fiber of his being.

"Where did you take him?" he ordered, forceful, unrepetant, as he drew his arm inexorably backwards, Kirk's grunt of pain reaching a higher pitch as he writhed, thrashing wildly in Spock's arms.

"Somewhere you'll never reach," Kirk grunted. "_Unhand me._"

For an instant, Spock almost did, the sheer authority in Kirk's voice stilling his movements for half a heartbeat.

It was enough. With a twist, Kirk escaped his hold, staring him down as Spock held the phaser gun level at his chest.

The doors to the brig swished open. Before Spock could so much as draw breath to tell the intruder to _leave, _Uhura was there, speaking rapidly.

"Captain, Chekov said –"

Cradling his limp wrist in one hand and looking haggard and worn in every angle, Kirk looked at Uhura with soft, serious eyes and said, "Call security."

Uhura froze, her gaze flicking between the two of them, Spock suddenly, chillingly aware of his own culpability in the scene. "Nyota," he began, hoping that perhaps the use of her first name might endear her to him a little more as he kept the gun trained on Kirk's chest, not daring turn to look at her. "Please inform security that we have a breach. This is not Jim Kirk."

"He's mad," Kirk rasped, his face paling as he staggered, and Uhura took a reflexive step towards him, her heart visibly torn between the two of them as she halted, Spock unable and unwilling to take his gaze from Kirk to reassure her more sincerely of his own innocence.

Kirk's weight shifted and Spock levered the gun more firmly at his chest, not willing to be fooled. Kirk looked at him, level, before remarking quietly, "Go ahead, Mr. Spock. Do it."

"Spock, don't you dare," Uhura warned, her voice snapping in the silence, and Spock powered the phaser gun up to its second highest setting, one voltage capacity below kill. "Spock."

"I am not going to kill him," Spock quipped, suddenly, irrationally irritated with both of them, aware that every second he was spending time attempting to appease Uhura and silence Kirk was another second not spent locating and rescuing the real Jim Kirk. His stomach sank – _impossible and illogical – _as he realized that Kirk could be dead already and the imposter would be all that remained of him.

If he stunned him, then he would not be able to interrogate him. Kirk's whereabouts would remain a mystery until Sulu and Chekov were able to deduce his location. Judging the serious, grim lines around Kirk's mouth, Spock knew that they would not find it in sufficient time.

_It could take weeks. Months. This is our only opportunity._

Powering down the weapon, Spock took one careful step back.

Kirk nodded once, his breath ragged in the quiet, the ship's echoing hum softening around them as Mr. Scott powered the engine down. "Manual override engaged," Spock's computer console chirped coolly at him, a tiny communicative device attached to a wrist cuffling when communicators were scarce or unavailable. "Main engines offline."

Patching through to Mr. Scott, he told him, "Thank you, Mr. Scott."

"Anytime, Commander," a voice that was most definitively _not _Mr. Scott's responded.

Spock's blood ran cold, Kirk's shoulders relaxing in unmistakably profound relief before he slouched, seamlessly smoothing over the momentary appeal to another authority. "Who is this?" Spock replied, unwilling to breach protocol by associating with hostile parties before anything was known about the nature of the situation but needing more information. One could not make accurate calculations and predictions upon thin air alone, and if Mr. Chekov's evaluation had been correct and three persons had been beamed aboard the ship, then there was more than the false Kirk to contend with.

"A friend," was all the stranger said, ending the transmission before Spock had a chance to reply.

Spock might have scowled had he not held a better grip on his own emotions. Uhura still stood frozen near the doors, watching the two of them, her hands clenched into fists.

Though he had the sudden and irrational urge to approach her and wrap her in the comfort of his arms, he was distracted by Kirk reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his left hand, a slight movement that had his nerves on edge in an instant. Kirk gave him a borderline scornful look, exasperation and exhaustion tinging it as he said, "At ease, Mr. Spock." He held up his left hand in a show of nonviolence, advancing towards the door in three quick steps before Spock squeezed off a warning shot over his shoulder.

Kirk froze, then, staring ahead blankly before turning to face him, breathing out slowly, deeply. With a glance at Uhura, he looked back at Spock, holding up his bloody right wrist in a show of defiance. "This is a dangerous game, Mr. Spock," he warned.

Spock inclined his head faintly to acknowledge that, feigned patience weakening as the seconds dragged on, slow and heavy and weighted.

Four armed security officers stepped into the room brusquely before he could twitch, Kirk slinking forward with a prowl-like efficiency as he approached the nearest guard. "Report," was all he said, swept into the center of their midst without a second thought, the head of security already rattling off information about the ship's status.

Dazed and horrified at the ease that the four officers accepted him into their ranks, Spock stepped forward, ordering, "Detain him," as he leveled the phaser at Kirk's chest, not trusting him.

Kirk stiffened reflexively, the other officers glancing at Spock in confused disbelief. "Commander?" one attempted, hesitantly, as Spock repeated, "_Detain _him."

"Spock –" Kirk began, soft and questioning, stepping forward as though he would speak with him before one of the officers stepped forward, a phaser already up as Spock's own powered up, ready to fire.

"Lower your weapon, commander," the chief of security ordered. "We can settle this on the bridge. Starfleet needs to speak with him." He nodded at Kirk.

"I can replace him," Spock assured coolly, confidently. "This man is an imposter."

Disbelief colored Kirk's face so convincingly that Spock almost lost his own resolve, a flash of the true Jim Kirk arising in that cynical, unlike face before being crushed into nonexistence as Spock felt that pulsing aura, gentle, irradiate, spreading outward from him.

_He is not human, _Spock judged, lowering his weapon slowly, reluctantly, realizing that a stalemate could cost him more precious time than he could afford if Kirk's life were endangered. Until he knew otherwise, he had to assume that it was; if he did not, then he would only be bitterly disappointed if he found that his own carelessness had cost Kirk dearly. Still, wary, he ordered, "Keep a weapon on him at all times. Set phasers to stun."

The chief of security looked at him, nodding slowly after a moment. "Fair enough. Gwyn, McKlellan, escort Mr. Spock to the bridge."

Two officers detached from the group, Kirk relaxing as the chief lead his detail away, Spock following close at his heels.

Uhura stopped him before he could enter the turbolift, however, with a hand on his arm. Though he knew that he could break her grip easily if need be, Spock allowed it, turning to look at her before telling her, "We must follow."

She nodded, looking at the two security officers warily before stepping inside the next lift with him, the doors whirling shut behind him.

"Tell me what happened," she ordered, pinning him with a firm, inarguable gaze.

Spock breathed in slowly, letting it go with equal care as he replied evenly, "We were ambushed."

"Chekov said there was a security breach," Uhura agreed. "They thought it was something in engineering –"

Spock's eyelids slid shut briefly, suspicions confirmed. "Where is Mr. Scott?"

"On his way to the bridge," Uhura answered, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Why, what's –"

Spock shook his head minutely, sparing a glance for the two officers at the edges of the lift, guarding the doors, weapons on hand. Uhura followed his gaze and pursed her lips, understanding flashing across her features.

Thankfully, they reached the bridge seconds later, the two officers striding out as Spock followed, Uhura close at his heels. "Where are we going?" she asked, hushed.

Kirk was at the center of the room, already speaking with the same security officers as before, wincing slightly as Dr. McCoy prodded at his broken wrist and growled menacingly as he scanned a tricorder over it. Dr. McCoy spared Spock a single scorching look as he appeared, back stiff and jaw tense as he said, "What the hell are you playing at?"

Spock leveled a cool, unflinching look back at him, wordlessly flicking his gaze towards the command room when Kirk turned slightly to address the chief of security directly, distracted.

Dr. McCoy opened his mouth to say something more before closing it, nodding once, an infinitesimal gesture of approval. Spock echoed the nod before Kirk redirected his attention to Dr. McCoy with a yelp as he pressed down on one of his wrist bones. "Don't be such an infant," he grumbled, setting to work on fixing the bones.

Satisfied, Spock strode across the bridge, keenly aware of Mr. Scott's absence as he pressed one of his precious override codes into the computer's system, granting him access to the room. Only the captain himself could enter without permission once that one was engaged; a useful precaution for hostile situations. Keying in Dr. McCoy's signature as well as Chekov's and Sulu's, he led Uhura inside, the doors closing briskly behind them.

"Lights, eighty percent," Spock ordered, bringing the dim, ten-percent-lit room into full relief as the computer consoles lit up, welcoming him with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

"Tell me everything," Uhura ordered, folding her arms and looking at him seriously.

Spock crossed his own hands behind his back, opening his mouth to speak when the doors swished open, Dr. McCoy and Kirk entering, the latter appearing unsurprised to see Spock. "What the hell's going on?" Dr. McCoy demanded, mirroring Uhura as he sidled next to her, Kirk assuming his natural position at Spock's side, angling towards him curiously, expectantly.

"Enlighten us," Kirk invited, pleasantly intrigued, the serious lilt to his tone almost overlying his irritation.

"Our ship has been compromised," Spock said coolly, turning to look at him fully, daring him to openly act against him.

Kirk stiffened but held his ground, refusing to submit so easily to such obvious bait.

"So we've been informed," Uhura said slowly, not seeking to provoke as she looked between the two of them. "What happened?"

"Security breach," Kirk answered briskly. He stepped towards the computer consoles and traced a hand over the dashboards slowly, almost lovingly. "Three unauthorized individuals entered the brig, incapacitated Mr. Spock and myself, and disappeared before we were able to detain them."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Uhura demanded, stepping forward until she was mere centimeters from Kirk, ready to go toe-to-toe if need be. Spock turned sharply, setting himself between them, shoulders almost touching theirs. Kirk stiffened; Uhura relaxed.

"They were not present when we regained consciousness," Kirk elaborated, keeping a handle on his patience. Spock did not miss the way his eyes bored into Uhura, searching, curious. "I'll have everyone evaluated once we're off the ship. I don't want to put anyone in danger on board if it isn't safe," he added, looking at Spock and then Dr. McCoy for confirmation.

Dr. McCoy glowered at him, unappeased. "Jim, what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Why were you in the brig in the first place?"

A flash of uncertainty crossed Kirk's eyes before he shook his head, turning slightly to address Dr. McCoy directly. "I wanted to examine the detention center for myself. After Khan . . . I wanted to make sure there was nothing else." Gingerly shifting his broken wrist, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't think it would matter."

Dr. McCoy looked at Spock, awaiting confirmation in dubious silence. Spock shook his head fractionally, denying him, and Dr. McCoy blew out his breath in exasperation, tossing his hands up slightly before turning towards the door as it swished open.

Mr. Scott swept into the room, not sparing a look for anyone but Kirk as he stepped forward. Spock allowed him a few more centimeters, easing back unobtrusively.

"What in God's name did you do to my ship," Mr. Scott demanded, a slow, low tone to his voice that Spock had never heard before. He looked at Kirk with such earnestness and broken promise that Kirk looked away, clenching his jaw. Mr. Scott did not let him escape so easily, though, asking, "Why would you turn it over to them? They don't know _anything._"

"They know more than you think they do," Kirk retorted, not looking at him. "They know a lot more, Scotty."

"They don't know _anything,_" Mr. Scott repeated heatedly, jabbing a finger at Kirk's chest. "You promised you would protect this ship and everyone on it, but you're letting _them _into it."

Kirk's eyes were steely, cold. "We are about to enter a war, Mr. Scott," he said, very seriously, looking at all of them and stepping back, drawing himself to his full height. "When, we do not know. With whom, we are uncertain. But we are desperately outmatched and mortally outgunned. We cannot hope to win. And _everyone _will die if we lose." Focusing all of his attention on Spock, he finished seriously, "Our only chance is to change history. If we don't, then we're doomed. I'm using this ship to suit that purpose and that purpose alone. Do not lecture me about _saving them, _Scotty. It's all I wish to do."

Silence reigned, black and consuming, as Kirk withdrew into himself, stepping pensively away from them until he stood above and somehow infinitely beyond them. Uhura was the first to move, leaning towards Spock slightly, her next words resonating in the quiet.

"You're not Jim," she said.

It was not a question. Kirk did not deign to reply, flexing his broken wrist tentatively and wincing. "I'm not," he agreed. "But I'm the best you've got. We need him."

"Who's we?" Dr. McCoy demanded.

Kirk shook his head. "Full disclosure is beyond my authorization. I'm here to contain peace, not ignite an inter-personal war." Staring at each of them in turn, he added, "If my identity becomes known, then I can guarantee there will be a war. I need not repeat myself to you especially, Mr. Scott: if it becomes known that my associates are on board, it is unlikely war will be far from it. We have the element of surprise. We must retain it."

"You can't just kidnap someone's identity," Dr. McCoy barked. "The Klingons –"

"–will be the least of your worries if our plan fails," Kirk assured icily. "Let my people do their work and I'll let you have your captain back. Continue to oppose me and the consequences will be dire." He strode to the door without waiting for a response, excusing himself without a word.

Even with the doors shut behind him, no one moved. To Spock, it seemed as though a sudden chill had entered the room, replacing the former feeling of uncertainty and making it even worse, somehow. More potent to break.

"Christ," Dr. McCoy breathed at last, reaching up a hand to rub through his hair.

"I do not believe he would be helpful in this matter," Spock pointed out, turning to Mr. Scott readily. "To whom were you referring?"

"_Unauthorized personnel_," Mr. Scott quipped, frustration lining his forehead. "Section 31 recruits. _Unlicensed _Section 31 recruits."

Spock frowned. _They have recovered remarkably well from the attacks on the Kelvin Memorial Archives, _he mused, pulling up a data screen on one of the computer consoles. "Can you trace him?" Spock asked, addressing Mr. Scott once more as he pursed his lips, shaking his head after a moment.

"If that Kirk looks and acts and walks like the one we know, then I don' think I'll be able to trace him, the computer'll just redirect me. I'd need something more tangible to look for. A chip or a tracking device or something."

"Should have had one of those Goddamn tracking chips implanted in him," Dr. McCoy growled, dropping his hand back to his side. "So what happens now? We let him go and let this bastard run around and pretend he's Jim?"

"We act accordingly," Spock corrected coolly, meeting their gazes and promising them with every fiber of his being, "We find Jim Kirk."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Yes, I know.

I know.

However, I want to split the next chapter between Kirk's POV (yes, Kirk - I wouldn't keep you in suspense _that _long) and Spock's. The alternative would have been to add a 2,000 word counterpart to this that wouldn't have fulfilled the same role.

So, I ask for your patience, I thank you _profusely _for your reviews, and I hope you enjoyed!

More to come soon.

Thank you again.

**Review?**

~truffles


	10. Interior

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Pike never told you much about us, did he?"

Kirk did not answer. On principle, he refused to: conspiring or cooperating with terrorists was against Starfleet protocol. Harris did not seem to mind his obstinacy; he had an air of patience and acceptance that belied great certitude. He knew that Kirk would comply – eventually – even if Kirk denied him an easy victory. In spite of his outward congeniality, Harris had not offered any meaningful information about his affiliates, although Kirk knew that he could not be acting alone. Scotty would have detected it at once if Harris had beamed aboard the ship alone and taken Kirk hostage. Though he kept up a presence of implacable calm, Kirk felt uneasy about his own captivity: Scotty should have found him by now if he was anywhere remotely near the _Enterprise_. He could not recall being unconscious for more than thirty seconds, transitioning from pitch darkness to blinding light in the span of a handful of heartbeats. He had been taken from the brig undetected and unopposed; that much, he was certain.

Where they resided eluded him, but he could hazard guesses based off the little knowledge that he did have. They were likely deep underground in a tightly environmentally regulated facility. During transport, the air pressure had remained almost painfully dense as they descended in a turbolift, muffling and distorting his hearing and vision. He had been unable to decipher any words from the conversation that Harris and one of his colleagues had as they dropped, his ear drums threatening to burst as each level passed. It was not until they reached their destination after a countless period of time that Kirk was able to rise from his crouched position on the floor (dignity had fled as the intensity of the pain in his skull became unbearable) and stumble into the hallway, led by Harris once more.

Harris operated with practical ease. He did not tarry with the locks, but Kirk was aware that they were multi-layered systems, requiring several codes to unlock submitted in rapid sequential order. The dizzying combination of numbers, letters, and graphics that Kirk recognized from xenolinguistics' courses left him reeling by the time they entered what he had deemed the interrogation room. Harris introduced the room as his office, gesturing at the scrupulous furniture in an invitational manner before moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. He had not offered Kirk one, though, and Kirk found it a telling breach in hospitality as Harris remained standing in front of his desk, watching him with calculating gray eyes.

"Pike never told you much about anything," Harris mused, more to himself than Kirk.

"He told me enough," Kirk grated, startled at how raw his own voice sounded. It had not occurred to him that he had yelled when phaser fire had erupted in the brig, but he must have; his throat felt scourged. Irrationally jealous of the steaming coffee in Harris' hands – even aware that it would more likely exacerbate the pain than soothe it – Kirk swallowed dryly and continued, "He warned me about people like you."

"People like me," Harris echoed, sounding faintly amused as he turned to the wall, a line of cabinets stacked on top of each other from ceiling to floor. "Enlighten me, Mr. Kirk. Who am I?"

Kirk watched him, waiting for any indication of violence before sinking slowly into the nearest seat, realizing that his shaky legs would not support him through a fistfight. Curiously weak and enormously frustrated, he explained stiffly, "Secret agent, special operations' officer, undercover detective." Licking his lips, refusing to be intimidated by Harris' visible distraction and apparent lack of unease with Kirk's ability to understand his motives, he finished, "Someone who operates outside the law. Above it."

Harris shook his head, riffling through a sheaf of papers and looking up at Kirk belatedly. "I am the humblest man on Earth," he countered, setting the papers aside. "I have given everything so that other men may sleep well at night. And I reap no rewards from this service – none but those that the universe sees fit to grant me." He set the papers back inside the cabinet, watching Kirk out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you want from me?" Kirk asked in a low voice. He wanted to lunge at him, to relieve him of the phaser gun doubtless holstered on his hip and hold it to his chin until he obliged. Men could be surprisingly obliging once serious motivation was brought into the argument, yet Harris seemed utterly unhurried, as though he had planned this meeting for weeks and had no desire to end it prematurely.

"I want you to understand who I am and what I do," Harris answered simply, opening a different drawer and pulling out a standard PADD. Kirk noticed the conspicuous lack of any registration insignias stamped onto the side of the device. _Self-made._ "This," Harris began, gesturing at the nametag pinned to his uniform, a white block with dark blue letters standing out starkly against the black of his shirt and pants, "is my name. It is irrelevant but occasionally comforting to underlings to have a name to call their supervisors." Seating himself behind his desk and resting the PADD on top of it, Harris explained, "You may call me Harris, if you like. It works as well as any other name."

Kirk said nothing. Harris did not seem to expect differently. "I am a special agent involved in Section 31," he continued, folding his hands on the desk, coffee to his left and PADD to his right as he stared Kirk down, refusing to release him from his gaze. "We operate within Starfleet perimeters but without Starfleet regulations. We keep the peace. Without our efforts, the Federation would no longer exist." Taking a sip from his coffee, Harris said, "Courtesy of your efforts, we almost faced the same disaster."

One of Kirk's eyebrows arched in involuntary surprise. Harris gestured expansively with one hand, declining the opportunity to elaborate. "What I do is fundamental to the preservation of the Federation's way of life. Though it is comprised of a variety of species spanning the cultural spectrum, it cannot be denied that we share a common desire for autonomy. I work to preserve that autonomy." Stirring his coffee before setting it aside, the aromatic steam wafting upwards in spite of – or, perhaps, because of – the chilled temperatures of the room, Harris picked up the PADD and toyed with it almost absentmindedly.

"I do not desire to remove a species' ability to destroy itself," Harris continued. "I will not intervene unless it is the interests of the Federation at stake. If one planet should succumb to natural causes, then I am not to blame. If, however, the fate of the Quadrant rests in my hands, then I will not hesitate to intercede on behalf of the entire Federation." Looking up from his PADD, gray eyes almost black in the gloom, he remarked, "Often times, Starfleet and I have coinciding desires, albeit Starfleet does not embrace its desires as openly. I am not a virtuous man, but I accept the inherent evil that I partake in to spare the Federation, unlike Starfleet itself." Harris shook his head in disgust. "Integrity is a myth, Mr. Kirk, created by men of great ambition to disguise great shortcomings. I simply do not attempt to conceal my ambition or shortcomings."

Turning the PADD to face Kirk, Harris added, "Look at this ship. Recognize it?"

Kirk did, but he sensed that Harris did not need his confirmation to proceed, staring at the _Vengeance _intently.

"This was a prototype for a much more powerful weapon," Harris explained, zeroing in on the ship's hull and magnifying it. "Unfortunately, our best engineer went rogue before we could utilize him to his fullest potential."

Jaw stiffening, Kirk noted bitterly, "I'd beg to differ."

Harris let out a small sigh that might have been a concession, pulling up a three-dimensional model of the ship's interior without acknowledging the break in character. "John Harrison," he said, almost savoring the words, "a brilliant disguise for an extraordinary man. Admiral Marcus underestimated him, though, and it cost him his life." Assessing Kirk through dark, unreadable eyes, he acknowledged, "You played a part in that as well, did you not?"

Kirk's instinctive desire to protest that he had not been involved in Admiral Marcus' death caught in his throat, painfully aware that had he turned Khan over to Marcus when he had requested it, Khan would not have had an opportunity to kill him. By allowing him to join their reconnaissance party, Kirk had enabled Khan, giving him access to Marcus and even clearing the way of any other unwanted obstructions. It had been child's play for Khan to kill Marcus once they were on board the ship. All he had needed to do was get to the bridge and disarm Kirk and his accomplices (one of which was a science officer, the other, an engineer).

There had been no alternatives, however, and Kirk found his mental footing again as he recalled how desperate their situation had been. If he had turned Khan over to Marcus' custody, then he would have put the _Enterprise _in danger if Marcus had proven malevolent (as, ultimately, he had). They would have lost their only bargaining chip, and the entire crew of the _Enterprise _would have perished.

_I did what I had to do_.

"Admiral Marcus was a good man," Harris continued, oblivious to Kirk's thoughts as he turned the PADD back to himself and set it aside. "He did what he needed to do to protect the Federation. He found a solution none of us had even considered when it seemed war was inevitable." Grimly, he allowed, "He panicked in the face of a real threat, one brought about by his own hand. He did not know how to respond to the dangers that Khan Noonien Singh presented, and so he attempted to eliminate him."

Kirk watched regret and frustration war on Harris' face for several long seconds. Shifting in his seat, he attempted to rise and managed it, standing on his own feet and looking down at Harris unrepentantly. The surge of accomplishment he felt at being aright and unrestrained abated when he saw the phaser gun between Harris' fingers, his calm, cool eyes evaluating him.

"We do not kill men in Section 31, Mr. Kirk," Harris said slowly. "We eliminate them. Over the course of my forty year service, I have eliminated twelve." Cocking the gun contemplatively, he asked, "Would you care to be the thirteenth?"

Kirk said nothing. "Tell me where we are," he ordered. "Why did you take me?"

Harris eyed Kirk for nearly a minute before setting his phaser abruptly aside. "You really don't know," he mused, scorn and amazement tinging his voice. "You eliminated one of my best men. Two, if Khan was ever mine. Retribution is in order." He nodded at the phaser gun, almost playfully. "I have the option to eliminate you," he explained calmly, leveling the phaser at Kirk's head once again. "I could do it. Revenge is a tasteful alternative to suffering." Lowering the gun, he pointed out, "But I'm an intelligent man. You have potential. I am not one to waste potential."

Frowning, Kirk surmised, "You want me to join you."

"You've already enlisted in Starfleet," Harris reminded, leaving the phaser on kill but toying with its triggering mechanism thoughtfully as though it would upend the secrets to the universe with sufficient persuasion. To Kirk's eyes, it did nothing, but Harris' shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, hands stilling as he looked over the device. "As far as I'm concerned, you already have joined me." Glancing up at him, he said, "I don't need you to join me. I need you to pay your dues. We have a much greater threat than Khan to worry about, and I can't afford to squander any of my resources. That includes you."

Kirk made no attempt to conceal his scowl. "I'm not one of you," he said firmly, gesticulating emphatically at his surroundings. "You took me from my ship. You _kidnapped _me."

"I did what I needed to do to get your attention," Harris corrected. "I don't have time to persuade you the old fashioned way. Your compliance would be ideal but is not, ultimately, necessary."

"People will notice," Kirk pointed out seriously as he turned partially to face Harris, back to one wall. "They'll know something happened if I disappear."

"Will they?" Harris asked, neutrally inquisitive.

Kirk opened his mouth to state the obvious – of course someone would notice, how could they _not _– before closing it, realization dawning on him in one terrible instant.

Harris smiled, almost gently, and said, "Such blunt accusations are unseemly, Mr. Kirk. No one will notice if you disappear."

Speech eluded him, panic threatening to overwhelm him as he followed the unspoken train of thought.

Harris had a backup plan. Of course he had a backup plan; no one in Section 31 lived to Harris' age, sixty years or more, without being surreptitiously good at covering his tracks. No one would notice Kirk's disappearance if Harris did not want it to be noticed; however he had managed it, the deed was done.

Somewhere, Kirk knew, another Kirk was living his life and filling his role.

Rage and fear swept over him in equal parts.

"How?"

Harris' lips twitched upwards in amusement. "Cloning technology is child's play." Waving a hand dismissively, he added, "Cooperate and you will have access to it."

"Cloning is illegal," Kirk recited, recalling an article in the Starfleet Charter discussing the high probability that such technology would be misused. The irony of his present situation did not escape him as Harris rose from his own seat, dumping his coffee in a disposal chute without a word.

"Cloning is illegal, yes," Harris parroted. "I do not operate within legal perimeters." Sizing up the threat that Kirk presented, he added, "Neither will you, should you choose to join me. You could do more good on the other side, but I'll respect your autonomy." Leveling the phaser gun at Kirk's heart in a hundredth of a second, he added conversationally, "I would recommend you come to a decision promptly, but I'm willing to wait it out."

Kirk met Harris' gaze and did not look away for nearly a full minute, his gaze flicking down to the phaser gun leveled at his own chest almost thoughtfully. "What would you have me do?" he asked slowly.

Harris shrugged, nonchalant; his firing arm did not waver. "Pike seemed to think that you would make a good emblem. Someone to respect, admire, _aspire _to be. A poster child."

_A poster boy._

The thought did not appeal to Kirk, being reduced to something the media could fawn over and little else. Independence corresponded directly with invisibility: the less the general public desired appearances from a particular officer, the more freedom that officer possessed to tackle the greater challenges. High-ranking and well-known figures were often plagued with press junkets, designed to showcase the Federation's generosity and charity rather than perform any real good. Early in their careers, the heroes would be permitted to play, but after a certain employment – typically it capped off at around five years – they were expected to settle down, to acquire higher ranks and secure more lofty goals. Firefights were for younger recruits; diplomacy was for the esteemed, the venerable, the extraordinary.

Saddling Kirk with such a role felt almost suffocating. Starfleet had assigned him standard new captain missions from the onset, requiring him to supervise and maintain rather than engage or initiate, something he had not thought twice of at the time. They had wanted to test his mettle, see how he would handle simple missions before handing him more complex assignments.

_You couldn't even handle the simple missions._

The painful truth was that he had failed his first true assignment: Pike had grudgingly handed him the Nibiru observational case three weeks early in the hopes of proving Kirk's worth and earning him a more serious assignment before he broke rank and demanded it from the Admiralty. Six weeks of routine work had chafed at him, and with the need to replenish Starfleet's higher ranks in the aftermath of Nero's attacks still present, Pike had had little excuse to delay Kirk's accelerated path towards more groundbreaking missions. He would set a new standard, acquiring skills and receiving training that few other officers his age had even considered, but he would also be expected to perform at a certain level, demonstrating competence and comfort in the role. Instead, he had gone directly against orders and changed history: rendering an active volcano permanently inert and risking the lives of his chief medical officer and first officer in the process.

_Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you are?_

Kirk had nodded, terribly confident, and replied, _I believe so, sir._

Pike had tried to tell him, then, what he should have known: he had challenged him, forced him to expect better, to _want _better, and to not settle for 'good enough.' They had scraped by the Nibiru mission with the skin of their teeth; a repeat incident might not have been as gracious, and it would have been Kirk's entire crew at risk, not merely his own life. _You think the rules don't apply to you, _Pike had accused. _There's greatness in you, but there's not an ounce of humility._

_I don't need humility to win, _Kirk had wanted to shoot back, wildly offensive, because he had saved Spock, _saved Spock!_, and with the exception of Dr. McCoy and Uhura, no one else seemed even mildly appreciative of the fact that he had managed it. Even Scotty was too distracted by the state of the _Enterprise _– _I told you, Cap, she is not meant to be underwater for any sustained period of time, d'you have any idea how much damage you might have caused had we sprung a leak? _– to care. Sulu and Chekov were too absorbed in their own shore leave to pause and recall that Kirk had saved Spock, recognizing that Kirk would fill them in on everything as soon as he boarded his ship once more, debriefing the entire command crew on their latest assignment and surreptitiously adding his remarks from the previous captain's log.

Even Bones had seemed less _happy _that he had managed to save Spock and everyone else than alternately relieved and annoyed that Kirk had done so.

_It isn't about winning, _Kirk thought, staring at the phaser gun, at Harris' lined face, and at the options set before him. _It's about being someone. It's about doing something worthwhile._

Clearing his throat, Kirk said gruffly, "Tell me what you need me to do."

Harris smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Feeling cooperative, are we?"

Kirk looked over his shoulder at the wall, refusing to meet his gaze as he said, "I'll do whatever you want if you take me back to my ship."

"That would be counterproductive," Harris said, shaking his head. "You see, I can't trust you, Mr. Kirk. In all fairness, I can't trust anyone, but least of all you."

Kirk's jaw tensed, his muscles bunching in preparation for a fight even though he knew the futility of it. Harris could squeeze off a shot in a heartbeat if he needed to; no matter how good he was in a bar brawl, Kirk did not stand a chance against phaser fire at close range. "How can I make you trust me?" he asked, forcing himself to say the words even as a less polite alternative threatened to arise.

"How indeed," Harris mused.

Then he leveled the gun at Kirk's face and fired.

**.o.**

Kirk's ears were ringing.

His head ached terribly, but he clawed at consciousness, squinting in the darkness. "What the hell did you do to me?" he rasped, throaty and unpleasant. He felt off-kilter, uneven in the blackness, hands groping for a familiar field of reference. They brushed against cloth and he recoiled, a heavy hand latching onto his own arm and steering him along before he could so much as grunt in protest. They passed through a pair of turbolift doors, the ground once more passing dizzyingly underneath them. Without anything else to ground him, Kirk clung to the wrist closest to him, ignoring the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach as the doors opened after a mere minute of ascent.

Harris – he had to assume it was Harris and not another accomplice, clarity evading him as they moved, blackness washing over his sight – led him down the hallway briskly. Kirk tried to punch him and earned a fist to his gut in retaliation. Winded, he followed breathlessly at Harris' heels, careful not to trip over his own feet as they finally came to a halt approximately eighty meters down.

"This," Harris explained, still moving too quickly for Kirk to follow without a disorienting wave of darkness whirling around him, "is the main engineering sector of Section 31. Some of the most powerful nuclear bombs in the Galaxy were born here before we moved to more customizable weapons." Kirk tried to make sense of the distorted shapes around him, squeezing his eyes shut briefly against the urge to retch at the vertigo.

"The USS _Vengeance _was a magnificent starship," Harris continued, seemingly unaware of Kirk's distress as he typed something into a keypad, a whoosh of fresh air wafting over them as they stepped forward at Harris' instruction. "Superior design, twice as fast and three times as strong as its closest competitor. Those torpedoes crippled it. She could have been a great thing." In an almost pleasant voice, he added, "Your actions cost me many of my best agents, Mr. Kirk. In times like these, I cannot afford to lose them."

He led Kirk through another series of doors, falling silent as they walked. It was not until they halted a second time that Kirk felt the heat from the room permeating his skin; it bore down on him with a claustrophobic intensity, breath catching in his chest as the air thinned out. "I need someone that can rebuild what was lost," Harris continued, raising his voice to be heard over a hiss of steam. "That means you, Mr. Kirk. You build me another ship and I'll spare that first officer of yours."

Kirk's heart skipped a beat involuntarily. "Don't touch him."

"We'll see," Harris allowed. "Hold still."

Kirk jerked when he felt a sharp prick against the back of his neck, reaching up to swat the place and grimacing when he realized that it was too late. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, fingers clawing frantically at the place where he could feel a small device already lodged into the skin.

"Tracking device," Harris informed. "If you prove your loyalties, then you won't need one. Until then, I don't trust you. Should you decide to test me or, on the off chance that you are successful, escape, then it has a self-destruct mechanism that I've heard is most unpleasant."

Kirk cringed at the thought, rubbing at the spot in a fit of agitation. "When does it come out?" he asked in a low voice.

"When I say so," Harris replied calmly, sidestepping the punch Kirk threw at him and twisting his arm back instead. "You know, that first officer of yours already managed to break my agent's arm. Maybe we should make it a matching set," he mused.

_Spock wouldn't do that,_ Kirk thought, lashing out blindly and earning a sharp jolt from the insert as a response, knees crashing to the floor as he clawed at the back of his neck.

The combination of pain and blindness was too much, briefly, and every small ache dozing underneath the surface of his consciousness seemed to awaken in full force, a guttural cry choking off in his throat as he clutched his throat spastically. "They say if you trigger the right muscles, then you can induce choking," Harris mused aloud, more to himself than Kirk as Kirk gagged from the floor, trying to remember how to breathe manually. "Need I make my point any clearer?"

Shaking his head – hating himself for giving in so easily – Kirk staggered to his feet as the pain slowly receded to a more manageable sear, his entire body ringing with it. He could not see, blackness occluding his vision entirely, and blind panic threatened to disrupt the tenuous grasp on control that he had.

"Cooperate with me and I can make your life a lot less unpleasant, Mr. Kirk," Harris said from somewhere far away. "Refuse to, and your life will be a lot shorter."

"What the hell did you do to me?" Kirk demanded, steadying himself with a hand on a nearby computer console. He could not see it, but he recognized the familiar hum of machinery, taking comfort in its solidarity.

He could almost feel Harris' eyes boring into him, cool and calculative, as he said, "Why, I made you more efficient," before a PADD was thrust into his hands. "You'll recreate the _Vengeance's _warp capability and report to me when you've finished," he ordered. "My office is 201-89-07. If you forget, then you'll simply have to come find me." He began to walk away, then, his footsteps clipped and finite, terror gripping Kirk before he could restrain it.

"Wait," he called out, already hurrying after Harris, clutching the PADD in his hands. "I can't –"

"You'll find 'can't' is not a word in my vocabulary," Harris interjected loudly from what appeared to be the end of the hall. "You have 4800 hours. I suggest you make the most of them."

The turbolift doors swished shut behind him with painful finality, leaving Kirk alone in the dark clinging to his one piece of solidarity.

"Computer," he said, clearing his throat as the word came out as a rasp more than an intelligent sound as he reiterated, "computer, locate Starfleet Headquarters."

"Cannot compute," the PADD chimed back. "Classified. D-Level clearance required."

Kirk frowned, requesting, "Locate Commander Spock."

"Cannot compute." A pause, and then: "Classified. A-Level clearance required."

Drawing in a deep breath, Kirk ordered, "Locate James T. Kirk."

"Cannot compute. Classified. A-Level clearance required."

Gazing blindly around himself, unable to decipher anything meaningful in the darkness, Kirk tried to remember how to breathe. "Computer," he said at last, stiffly, "locate John Harrison."

"John Harrison," the PADD echoed mechanically. "A-Level associate, lieutenant commander of the USS _Vengeance_, initiated in 2257. Removed from active line of duty on stardate 2259.58."

A shiver worked its way down Kirk's spine. _2259.58._ He would always remember that date, whether he wanted to or not. It was the day that he had died, the same day that he had made the decision not to surrender Khan Noonien Singh to Admiral Marcus, the same day that he had almost lost his life to a Klingon squadron, the day that he had entered the warp core reactor and died of radiation poisoning as Spock looked on in horrified, terrified silence.

_Spock._

Kirk's stomach twisted at the thought of harm coming to him and he gritted his teeth against the urge to smash the PADD against the floor out of sheer frustration with his predicament. He would never find a way out if he did not comply with Harris' commands to some degree; he had no doubt that Harris would fulfill his promise and terminate Kirk if he no longer saw a benefit in keeping him alive.

Gritting his teeth, Kirk said aloud, "Computer, locate _Dreadnought_-class starship USS _Vengeance._"

**.o.**

Time seemed to pass slowly for Spock.

He could not shake the feeling that every second spent aboard the _Enterprise _idling was another moment wasted in retrieving Captain Kirk. With Lieutenant Uhura, Dr. McCoy, and engineer Scott aware of the situation, he had little choice but to continue his research privately with the false Kirk shadowing his moments, hyperaware of Spock's presence. He wanted to order the security team to detain him for further interrogation, but he knew that they would not comply: whomever had taken Kirk had taken equal care not to be detected, and it was clear that they would not remove the infiltrator until their mission was complete.

Still, it grated on Spock's nerves to be so helpless. No matter how many times he entered Kirk's information into the computer's systems, they came back a resounding negative on all fronts. He could not even calculate to any degree of accuracy Kirk's last location; the false Kirk's signature interfered with the computer's tracking system, preventing it from providing an accurate analysis. It appeared that the real Jim Kirk had simply vanished without a trace, his doppelganger insinuating itself seamlessly into his life.

Breathing out slowly and forcing himself not to give any outward sign of his vexation as he stepped away from the blank-screen computer console, Spock kept his surprise in check as he turned to face Dr. Marcus, grave-faced and sober.

"If they don't want you to find him, then you won't," she said simply. "That much I can tell you."

Stepping closer, keeping his outrage on a very tight leash, Spock said, "If you know where he is –"

"I wish I did," Dr. Marcus said sincerely, easing back half a step from his advance. The space dock was crowded, hundreds of officers mingling around the station. No one had taken notice of two officers standing inconspicuously to one side, and Spock was suddenly, intensely aware of how easy it would be to interrogate _her _as to Kirk's whereabouts. The imposter Kirk might have the leverage of Kirk's identity on its side, but Dr. Marcus had no such protection.

It would be easy – so terribly easy – to force her to tell the truth.

_A parody of the truth, _Spock corrected scornfully, reigning his anger inward, shame quickly residing in its place. Injuring crew members would not bring him any closer to finding Jim Kirk, regardless of how physically satisfying it might be to move _something._

The calm, easy way that the imposter Kirk moved about Jim's ship was infuriating. Spock wanted nothing more than to tell him to _get off this ship, _but he knew that he could not, that he dare not, else he be removed in Kirk's stead.

"I know how Section 31 operates," Dr. Marcus said slowly, lowering her voice until even Spock had to strain his ears. "They're ruthless. This has their handprint all over it. Covert, quick, and complete." She shook her head, a pained expression on her face. "I can't honestly say if he's even still alive."

White noise threatening to overwhelm him, Spock demanded in an equally low voice, "How did they manage to gain control of this ship?"

"I don't know," Dr. Marcus admitted again, reluctantly. "I'm sorry," she added, almost visibly flustered as she made an expansive gesture with one hand. "If I knew more, then I'd tell you, but I don't. But what I do know – suspect, really – isn't good." Edging closer, she added quietly, "We need to find him, and we need to find him fast, or he's doomed."

Spock did not need the encouragement, inclining his head sharply. "Indeed, Doctor," he said, cutting to the point as he asked, "How did you discover –"

"Intuition," Dr. Marcus cut in grimly, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. "You're not a violent person, Mr. Spock. I knew something was wrong as soon as you and Kirk stepped onto the bridge."

Watching her as she stepped aside when another red-shirted officer passed within a couple meters of them, Spock inquired, "Why would they take him?"

Dr. Marcus shook her head, but her next words were not, "I don't know." Instead, she said simply, "He's brilliant. Strategically, he knows more about what happened during the – during Khan's attacks than anyone else."

_They wish to use him, _Spock deciphered. _For what purpose?_

"Spock!"

Dr. McCoy's voice called him back from his reflective silence as Dr. Marcus stepped back to allow him into their circuit. "Been looking all over for you," Dr. McCoy began gruffly. "Thought maybe that bastard had gotten to you, too, for a minute."

"Where is Lieutenant Uhura?" Spock asked, at once concerned for her safety – and guilty that Chekov and Sulu were an afterthought. He could clearly see them engaged in a private conversation fifty meters away, enveloped on all sides by passing crew members; Uhura once more became a priority as he realized that she was nowhere in sight.

"She's with Scotty," Dr. McCoy dismissed. "I wanted to show you something."

He picked a medical tricorder and held it up for Spock's evaluation, nonplussed by Spock's utter silence in response. "I got a reading on Jim before he ran off to check out the brig," he reported, grimly satisfied. "His temperature's elevated."

_38__o__ C._

Eyebrow arched fractionally, Spock waited for further explanation, at last prompting, "It appears relevant, however, I do not know how you plan to utilize it."

"It doesn't help us much if we're not in close range," Dr. McCoy admitted. "Depending on where he is, there might be other interference, too. But it gives us a starting point if we do find him. The fake Kirk checks out clean: thirty seven on the dime. If we can get the computer to search for the Kirk with the higher temperature, then we might have a chance at finding him."

Spock did not like the odds that Kirk was far enough that it would be impossible to detect him through meteorological barriers, but he followed carefully at Dr. McCoy's heels as Dr. Marcus flanked him, already theorizing ways that he might uncover Kirk's location before the imposter managed to inflict any lasting damage on Kirk's reputation.

_Curious that I would be defending Kirk from himself, _Spock mused, slanting a glance at the fake Kirk out of the corner of his eye, their eyes meeting briefly in challenge. _Saving Kirk from himself._

He did not say a word as Dr. McCoy rattled out more improbabilities, knowing already that they had no choice: they had to find Kirk, regardless of feasibility.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hello, everyone!

I apologize for the delay. I never anticipated that it would take this long to write this chapter.

Thank you for the continued support! I do read and respond to every review, and I appreciate your feedback immensely.

~truffles


	11. Informative

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Star Trek _or any of its characters. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Nearly eight hours passed before Kirk managed to duplicate Khan's fuel efficiency.

He had labored meticulously over the engines, guiding the computer's search until he had had a mental database from which he could draw information easily. It had been tedious, exhausting work, deciphering in complicated circles without a base to rely upon, but he had not become a certified Starfleet engineer by resigning in the face of difficulties. He had worked through the snags, backtracking patiently whenever the computer had demanded a new level of clearance from him until he had had the right foundation to build upon once more. It had taken almost three hours before he had found anything relevant to his cause, sifting through countless records for any indication of the warp core functionality of the USS _Vengeance_.

The find had been inconclusive: official records of the starship's designs were nonexistent. Kirk had needed to approximate the amount of fuel and density of the warp core reactor in order to build a practical model from which he could increase the warp factors. From there, it had been an endurance test, adjusting the dimensions of his imaginary ship until the computer stopped reiterating the finite, "Error: unsustainable warp capacity."

The USS _Enterprise _could travel comfortably at speeds exceeding warp six for lengthy periods of time and up to warp seven in a crisis. The USS _Vengeance _would have needed to travel at least twice as fast to overtake the _Enterprise _before she could arrive at her destination.

Thus, the only logical conclusion that Kirk could draw from the _Vengeance's_ pursuit had been that it had traveled at speeds exceeding warp factor nine, double the maximum warp that the _Enterprise _had registered at before being crippled. Chekov had been saying something about it, Kirk recalled, as he studied the mechanisms, seated on the floor (standing in the whirling amorphous blackness was nauseating). He had discovered that the _Vengeance _must have done something to achieve speeds surpassing warp factor nine in order to overtake the answer.

Scotty and he had been deliberating the possibility that Admiral Marcus had utilized explosive reactions to provide the additional kinetic energy required to attain such an impossible speed. It would not have provided consistency, however, and the warp coils that Scotty had shown Kirk had not been thick enough to sustain multiple explosive reactions. It would have been too risky to assume that the detonation would last long enough for them to overtake the _Enterprise, _and the manner that it had successfully done so seemed different as well.

The _Vengeance _had not merely followed the _Enterprise's_ tracks: it had chased her down, suggesting a controllable increase in velocity while in the midst of a warp tunnel. Such an impossibility had made Kirk's head ache as he had forced the computer to re-read the hundreds of computations that he had already entered into its program, frustration building behind his eyes until he had wanted to give up the project entirely.

_I have to find a way out, _he had deduced, directing his attention to his own environment for a time. After confirming his isolation, he had quickly realized that escape was unlikely given his present condition. His legs were shaky underneath him, his fingers trembling as he drew them across the console boards scattered around the room. Given enough time, he could have disengaged their primary security systems, perhaps even hacking into their more intricate inner workings and gleaning more than the ambiguities that the PADD that Harris had left him had offered. He did not have time, however, not when the warp factor impossibility continued to loom over him.

So he had devoted his attention solely to his task once more and came to the only probable solution.

"Well, Mr. Kirk," Harris said, sounding outwardly unimpressed as he stood a bare two meters away from him. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Subatomic frequencies," Kirk rasped, quiet and unfazed, as he stood across from him, hands clasped behind his back to steady him.

He could almost hear Harris' weight shifting with intrigue as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his breathing silent in the dark. "Explain," was all he said.

Kirk licked his lips, keenly aware of his own thirst as he did so. Doing his best to suppress his outward discomfort, he continued slowly, "It occurred to me as I was . . . running through my permutations that there was no logical solution to the problem. Warp factor nine cannot be exceeded – or even, at present, _attained _– by our armada. It can, however, be achieved if one removes the fundamental parameters upon which starships are designed: space and time." Meeting what he hoped were Harris' eyes, he finished softly, "Space is the thing that is moving."

"A theorem submitted by your own chief engineer," Harris completed. "Now tell me, Mr. Kirk – how does it apply here?"

Kirk shook his head slowly, acknowledging the incredulity behind his own words as he stated, reflexively cordial among the sole authority in the dark: "Sir, if the ships are the only two objects moving _through _space, then theoretically it's impossible for the _Vengeance _to have overtaken the _Enterprise _while at warp four or above. Even overtaking her at low warp speeds would have nearly impossible: predicting her trajectory without any solid foundation of facts could have crashed the two ships and pulverized both if there had been a miscalculation. Admiral Marcus' pursuit was precise and severe: he gained quickly on the _Enterprise _and maintained a safe distance upon which he could fire torpedoes while _gaining speed _inside the warp tunnel."

"The _Enterprise _had already been crippled," Harris pointed out, his voice low and contemplative. "Your vessel might not have produced speeds exceeding warp three, despite your expectations."

For one moment, Kirk fumbled in the metaphorical dark as the literal one pressed in on him, scrambling to keep his conclusions aright. "Our sensors registered at warp six," he said at last. "I have no reason to disbelieve their accuracy, and the speed necessary to overtake our ship before we arrived at Earth would have been twice that of our ship." Gesturing absently with one hand, he finished, "Marcus could not have intercepted us so quickly if he had been traveling at warp six or below."

There was the distinctive sound of shifting weight this time, and Kirk had the mental image that Harris had shifted in his seat, intrigued. "What is your theory, then, Mr. Kirk?"

Kirk licked his lips, a quiet, incongruous gesture, belying his uncertainty even as his voice and hands remained steady. "Warp nine is the highest speed any starship could theoretically attain in the present universe," Kirk said simply. "Superseding that would be impossible, as the ship would be traveling equally and indefinitely in one direction, unable to increase or, once engaged, alter its trajectory. Yet warp factor nine would have left the _Vengeance _trailing the _Enterprise_, albeit it would have overtaken her upon our arrival at Earth." Holding up the PADD, Kirk stepped forward three careful steps, extending it in front of him. When Harris took it, he receded, explaining, "The _Vengeance _never exhausted more than warp factor one. It broke through subspace."

"I don't take your meaning," Harris said, the soft chimes of the PADD being used making Kirk's fingers itch with the need to take it and defend his research. He knew that Harris would want to see the search history for himself; he had been careful not to include any incriminating searches in his inquiry, knowing that any tracks could be used against him. Thankfully it had not been difficult to keep his attention focused on the task at hand: the warp capability conundrum had thoroughly stupefied him, holding him raptly in attention as he listened to the computer echo his calculations mechanically.

"You confiscated Scotty's trans-warp beaming theorem," Kirk reminded coolly. The fingers on the PADD stilled; Kirk had _his _attention, then. "Trans-warp beaming isn't about outrunning space. It's about manipulating it."

Harris gave a slow, thoughtful hum. "Trans-warp travel has never been achieved," he pointed out. "Our previous attempts were singularly unimpressive."

Kirk swallowed the immediate urge to retort that he was lying. It was the only option, the only explanation that shed an iota of light onto the situation: "You cheated."

He could almost see Harris' eyebrows creep up his forehead in surprise. "Strong words, Mr. Kirk. Care to back them up?"

"Khan was genetically engineered to be superhuman," Kirk said, forcing himself to speak clinically on the issue, hands clasped behind his back at the wrist. "You used him to discover a formula that would enable your ships to travel faster. To _circumvent _the normal limitations of space travel. He found a means. He dropped it into subspace and overtook the _Enterprise _before slowing his vessel once he reached her." Squeezing his left wrist behind his back, out of Harris' sight and his own, he added, "Scotty said that it would take a tremendous amount of force to sustain that speed for any period of time, but the engines coils weren't vaporized. They withstood the damage. The _Vengeance's _fuel tanks were standard proportion for a starship of its size. The amount of fuel was normal. Which means the only logical conclusion is that the fuel was different."

"We have tried different fuels for years, Mr. Kirk," Harris informed, almost dryly, but there was an edge of curiosity to his voice that Kirk knew meant that he was onto something.

"Dilithium is too unstable to achieve trans-warp travel," Kirk said, undeterred. "The amount of kinetic energy generated during a trans-warp movement would vaporize the ship." Shaking his head slowly, he said, "A more stable form of dilithium could be used to achieve trans-warp travel. For short bursts of time, that is. I imagine there would be more serious ramifications if you used _that much _radioactive substance for more than a few seconds." Letting that information sink in, he finished conclusively, "You found a new fuel source."

Harris was silent.

Giving him a minute to respond, Kirk cleared his throat quietly and said, "That's it, isn't it?"

"Very good, Mr. Kirk," Harris said, his tone colorless. "Very good indeed."

"Where did you find it?"

Harris was silent for so long that Kirk was convinced that he would not answer at all when his voice came across the darkness, cool and methodical. "Understand this, Mr. Kirk," he said seriously. "You have no authority here." Then, standing, he paced, his footsteps almost silent as he spoke. "Trans-warp travel has fascinated great minds for centuries. Ever since warp drive was incorporated into starships, our interstellar travel has changed our existence. We've always been a curious race, seeking other species like ours. Insofar, we've had the good fortune to never find ourselves outmatched. Trans-warp travel was . . . a dream. Of men with great ambition and no perception of the ramifications."

Kirk had the chilling certainty that Harris was looking directly into his eyes as he said, "There are always ramifications, Mr. Kirk."

Prowling away, he tapped at the PADD wordlessly for several long minutes, Kirk resisting the urge to demand more. "I want you to understand that dilithium is not a natural resource found on many planets. It is, in fact, a rare commodity. There is a limited amount of it available in the known universe, and only a very small percentage of that is currently accessible to us." Setting the PADD on the desk, he leaned back against it, his weight shifting almost imperceptibly. "We are running out of fuel, Mr. Kirk, but not because it does not exist. We are running out because it is not _here._"

Tapping his desk once emphatically with his fist, Harris explained, "Our weapons are poor. Outdated. Klingons have more advanced weaponry among their foot soldiers than ours, and they are the devils we know. There are other forces out there that could cripple our entire fleet if we came into contact with them. Populations that outnumber ours by the trillions."

The figures were dazzling and Kirk knew that he was meant to be impressed, but he did not speak, denying Harris the satisfaction of his acknowledgement. Harris did not seem overly bothered by his lack of compliance; on the contrary, he appeared to be building steam. "We cannot seek these treasure troves lurking outside our own borders without risking a confrontation with species that have possessed trans-warp technology for centuries. A confrontation that would, indubitably, end in our demise."

"Maybe we aren't meant to have it," Kirk suggested, considering the implications of Khan's blood in his own body. "Maybe it's something we shouldn't seek out."

"If we let this go," Harris insisted, relentless, unyielding, "then we will no longer have starships, Mr. Kirk. Our supplies are rapidly shrinking to suit the increasing needs of our armada. This is more than just scientific curiosity: this is the future of the Federation at stake. We cannot hope to sustain the united nature of the Federation if our ability to travel among the quadrant disintegrates. With no reliable supply source to sustain our income of dilithium, we will soon be facing this scarcity."

Kirk said nothing. There was little that could be said in light of the dire revelation. _We're running out of fuel. We have an entire fleet to support, and we're running out of fuel._

Then, worse: _There's more. But we can't reach it without a confrontation._

"Speak with them," Kirk told him, feeling somewhat steadier on familiar ground. Diplomacy had never been his strongest suit, but he had never shied away from a debate, always managing to hold his own if not come away satiated from an argument. "Negotiate a peaceful trade."

"They do not speak our language, Mr. Kirk," Harris said, tapping something else onto his PADD. Kirk had the distinct impression that he was taking notes; what he was recording, he did not know. "They share our need for a new supply of natural resources, but they do not care to suffer a treaty," he went on, oblivious to Kirk's confusion. _Who are they? Where do they come from?_ "We do not want a war, but we cannot let the present circumstances persist. We will run out of resources before we force their hand."

"You're suggesting we _conquer _another planet," Kirk pointed out blandly. It was the only other option: if they could not peacefully find a common ground, or at least, a mutual tolerance for each other's desires, then conquest would be the only way to ensure that the resources were obtained. Conquest on both sides, Kirk reminded himself, dread coiling in his stomach at the thought.

"I'm not suggesting we conquer a planet," Harris interjected, implacable as an iceberg as he added, "I'm suggesting we subdue a species, mine its resources, and find a suitable alternative before the need for more resources becomes apparent."

"And if there is no alternative?" Kirk persisted, steel in his tone. "If our only option is to mine this . . . _species_ indefinitely?"

"The dilithium storage sites we found on Qo'noS were sufficient to power the _Vengeance _for nearly half a century. Those storage sites are only a tiny fraction of the resources available in the Gamma Quadrant." Drawing in a slow breath and letting it out with similar patience, Harris said simply, "The _Vengeance _was a prototype for a much more . . . efficient starship."

"A warship," Kirk corrected.

Harris did not contest the point.

"Going to war with another species isn't going to solve our resources' problem," Kirk said, idling forward carefully in the dark, feeling disarmed without his sight. He could not read Harris' expressions nor gauge his body language for any unspoken clues. Blind in more ways than one and painfully aware of his own weakness, he tread lightly. "We lost almost a fifth of the Academy to Khan's attacks. We need more time to replenish our ranks before we even consider attacking someone else."

"There is no time, Mr. Kirk," Harris said. "There will never be enough _time _to recover from these things. Do you think the loss is any easier to bear once you've replaced the numbers and brought the fleet back up to its previous status? It's never the same. It never will be. You and your crew took out two of my best men. One of them proved irredeemable, and the other was destroyed. Each of my affiliates is worth a thousand officers, because we know what they will not tell you. We stop what they cannot hold back. We prevent the wars, even when they have the numbers on their side. Without us, the Federation would not survive."

_You think your world is safe?_

The blood was rushing through Kirk's ears, but he could still hear Khan's voice clearly, an insidious drawl in the dark: _It is an illusion. A comforting lie told to protect you._

He had never wanted to be coddled or protected from the truth. His childhood alone had proven time and again that the world was a dangerous, unforgiving place. His tutelage at Starfleet Academy had reaffirmed those fundamental beliefs, reminding Kirk that no matter how safe he felt or how strong he was, there would always be some force out there that was not merely malevolent but also stronger than he was. It would destroy him someday, he knew, that unseen threat in the abyss. He did not know the form that it would take – Bones always seemed to think it would be some exotic malady – but he knew, indubitably, that it would spell his demise.

To be told that not merely his own life but the lives of those he cared about were threatened rattled him. He had not wanted to believe that Khan was right, but the more he saw – or rather, the _less _he saw – the more he was convinced that Khan had seen those dangers long before Kirk had ever contemplated the dangers beyond skirmishes with the Klingons as a serious threat.

_I can't let this happen, _he realized, at the same time that Harris said, "I need you to be my new engineer, Mr. Kirk. But I need you to be a strategist as well. A diplomat. A peacekeeper. I need you to be someone that can walk into a No Man's Land and refuse to back down when the enemy pulls out his guns. I need you to be the person that can take a bullet if it means proving your resilience. I need you to be my new right hand man, Mr. Kirk, yet I cannot trust you in any of those roles."

"You blinded me." Even the words felt foreign on his tongue, as though the universe itself was not convinced of their truth. "What more do you want?"

"I want your full cooperation," Harris said simply.

Kirk's jaw stiffened. "Unlikely," he allowed at last, each syllable clicking with refusal.

Harris let out a soft huff of breath that might have been a chuckle in another life. "You're spirited, Mr. Kirk," he acknowledged. "I like spirit in my men. Keeps them interesting." Pressing the PADD back in his hands, he ordered, "Read up on dilithium. Then read up on Qo'noS. I'm giving you G-Level clearance. It's more than what you'll find in Starfleet Archives. Should be an enlightening read." With what might have been a nod at the doors, Harris added, "You're dismissed. Fourteen steps to your left, then twelve to your right, and thirty one to your left again. Those are your quarters. Report to me in 0800 hours."

Kirk opened his mouth to protest but Harris was already steering him out of the room, his door sealing shut behind him with a finite _whoosh _as the hallway loomed before Kirk, unseen and unfriendly.

Edging carefully to his left, he followed Harris' instructions, hesitating before pressing his hand to the wall closest to himself. "Hello?" he tried. "Kirk, James T. speaking."

"Welcome, Kirk," a computer chimed back, the door whooshing open and admitting him.

Wishing that he had his sight, a phaser gun, or a semblance of control outside of his own tiny sphere of influence with him, Kirk stepped carefully into the room. It appeared uninhabited, no sounds arising from the dark to indicate otherwise, and he felt his way across the room, one arm extended in front of him.

He startled slightly when he came across a bed, one hand sinking into the downy cushion as he felt where a bunk might have been above him. Ducking to avoid the arch and crawling carefully onto it, he relaxed in spite of himself as he pressed his back to one wall, cross-legged and steady.

The aches in his chest became almost unbearably obvious in the silence, though, his entire body searing with the remembered agony. Bones had brought him back to life using Khan's blood, but the old injuries remained, broken ribs, deep bruises, even the stark edges of burns highlighting the places where old battles had been fought and won. He would not have lived at all if he had lost, but the victories had been bittersweet; he had almost hacked up a lung after the fight on Qo'noS, barely able to stand unsupported before he sank into one of the seats on the shuttle craft and slipped seamlessly back into the role of commanding officer.

Spock had not commented on the matter, refraining from pointing out the obvious for a change. Kirk wished that he was around; he had never seemed overly reliant on any of his senses, and Kirk knew that he could adapt well to a situation like this if need be.

The thought of Spock in captivity made him cringe, though, and he turned his attention to the PADD instead, seeking a reprieve.

"Computer," he grunted, "define dilithium."

"Dilithium," the computer chimed back, pleasant and unaffected as always, before delving into a complicated explanation about dilithium's more well-known properties, including its role in the warp drive. Kirk listened with half an ear, head throbbing as he rested the PADD on his lap, one hand creeping up to rub at his forehead tiredly.

"Computer, pause," he ordered, the computer halting mid-speech with mechanical ease.

Reclining back against the bed, unable to help himself as exhaustion pressed in from all sides, Kirk relaxed infinitesimally against the soft surface, cradling the PADD with one arm as he closed his useless eyes and listened. "Computer, resume."

He drifted off to sleep with the elements of the hypersonic series chasing themselves around his mind.

**.o.**

Kirk awoke with a start to the sound of the doors whooshing open, on his feet almost before he had processed that he could not see and he had no way of determining what kind of intruder it was. "Very good, Mr. Kirk," Harris said, debunking Kirk's fears as he pulled out a chair from across him and took a seat. "I realize that our last conversation might have been a bit overwhelming for you," he began, folding his hands over one knee – Kirk could not see but he could hear, and he knew quiet confidence when he heard it. "It was a lot to process. Even our best agents were rarely handed so much in one sitting."

Kirk did not take a seat, instead licking his lips – hunger gnawed at him but he ignored it, knowing he would find no reprieve until Harris was satisfied – before saying simply, "I think I understand."

"You think you do," Harris agreed, congenially dismissive, as he added, "You still don't understand the magnitude of the problem we are facing. _Time_, Mr. Kirk, is a resource that I do not have. If I did, then I might have persuaded you more cordially to work for my organization. As it is, I have squandered countless hours resisting the urge to bring you here from a more populated location. Your ship, while not ideal, proved to be the perfect setting: few officers on board, entire decks abandoned, and far less security that it would typically have. A simple distraction – a misreading on the fuel tanks, perhaps – and you had sufficient motivation to investigate. Once my agents had you alone, it was simple to bring you here."

Kirk frowned. "I never went to engineering," he pointed out.

"Indeed you didn't," Harris agreed. "Though whatever it is about the brig that you found so fascinating at the time, I'm grateful my officers were prepared."

_He doesn't know,_ Kirk realized, a cold wash of dread gripping him. He could not know about Khan, not if he had been bemused by Kirk's choice to visit the brig after Khan's final message.

_You think your world is safe?_

"Indeed," Kirk echoed, outwardly complacent. Defiance was a careful art: he could not afford to invoke punishments on himself when he was already weakened and crippled, and so he had to comply or risk Harris' wrath. Harris seemed patient, however, not pressing him further than he felt necessary to achieve a particular job, and with a mental start Kirk realized he had no idea how long it had been since he had last spoken with Harris.

_Has it already been eight hours?_

"I realize that your functionality is impaired by your blindness," Harris went on calmly, as though he was referring to a particular dislike Kirk had for a certain food and not the loss of his sight. "I've come to offer you a truce. If you drink this," and suddenly there was a vial in Kirk's hand, cold and solid between his fingers, not unlike the morphine vials that Bones had given him days before, "then you'll have your full sight restored. I'll debrief you further on your assignment and, if necessary, provide visual references to the research you have been doing."

Kirk stared blindly at the bottle in his hand, temptation surging to the forefront of his mind before he clenched his fingers around it.

_No._

There had to be a catch, a condition, to Harris' kindness. He had offered nothing insofar even remotely beneficial to Kirk's health, dazing him and forcing him to work in sub-par conditions, demanding answers that Kirk did not have.

Offering him a vial with a restoration for his sight seemed a genuine mercy on Harris' part, but Kirk knew better.

"I'll pass," was all he said, holding the vial out and feeling Harris' fingers curl around the base, retrieving it.

"Wise man," Harris said calmly, pocketing the vial with a rustle of clothing. "If you had taken it, then you would have been dead in three minutes."

Kirk's blood ran cold but he refused to let his alarm show on his face as he inclined his head once sharply. "Understood, sir," was all he said.

Harris stood from his seat, Kirk's shoulders tensing involuntarily, an inner desire to assert himself warring with the need to submit to Harris' demands. Subservience won and he subsided, standing rigidly at attention. "It is not a permanent condition," Harris allowed at last, barely two meters away. "It will weaken with time. By that point I suspect you will either have died in action or committed fully to my cause." Stepping forward, he added, "The choice is yours."

After a lengthy pause, he moved to the door, adding over his shoulder, "My office, 0200 hours."

The doors swished shut behind him, and Kirk let out a long, slow breath of relief.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, all! Thank you so much for your support; it really does mean a lot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I ended up making it all Kirk's POV, the next one will feature more heavily into Spock's POV. Looks like the away team will be responsible for the rescue, so stay tuned; things will get better.

Thank you again!

Review?


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